Divided They Fall
by Nilly's Issue
Summary: Percy is crumbling under a severe case of PTSD after getting kidnapped and tortured for information after the war. Annabeth struggles to keep him from self-destructing.
1. Extricated

**Summary: **Percy is crumbling under a severe case of PTSD after getting kidnapped and tortured for information after the war. And Annabeth struggles to keep him from self-destructing. No OCs.

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><p>"<em>They say they don't know when, but a day is gonna come. When there won't be a moon and there won't be a sun. It will just go black. It will just go back to the way it was before."<em>

_- Conor Oberst_

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><p>Chapter One: Extricated<p>

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><p>Time has no meaning.<p>

Percy has officially realized this.

Humans invest so much into it. They follow the hours, the minutes, the seconds, religiously. They adhere to their appointments; rely on the throbbing tick-tock of a clock to tell them that their life is moving. They trust that time will always keep going, that one hour will follow the other, and that tomorrow will follow today, that next week will follow this one. And they would fall apart without it. Consistency makes humans productive and keeps them sane.

They rely that this day will pass, and have hope that the next might be better. Hope is the mainstay. Time is the enemy.

And they refuse to believe, or even think of, the idea that possibly, time does not exist. What if _time_ is simply a delusion that humans have created in an attempt to categorize, and make sense of something far beyond them? What if it's all a lie? Is everything people have created an illusion? Time doesn't exist. It's a scapegoat. A lie. An escape, a guidance. Does it exist?

Percy doesn't know.

Time has no meaning.

Seconds pass, minutes fall away, and hours sink into the rushed work of the day. Years gather on the human body, slowly breaking it down, forcing weariness and pain on the old.

Time has no meaning. Time is evil.

Then again, maybe it isn't evil. Maybe it's quite relatable to death. The world wouldn't turn without it. Time is a cycle. It remains neutral. It makes you, and then it proceeds to destroy you. And it does so slowly, which is where the resentment lies. It's the painful, crawling pace that tears humans apart. Time delivers humans to their death. They don't know when time will simple… stop.

Death and time are close friends. They exist within each other. They are one another.

Humans grow, age, and then die. And sometimes, time slices off in the middle, abruptly ending everything.

Time spreads the gasoline over the bones and death lights the match.

And in this, Percy finds hatred. He has never been a hateful person. He's been angry with people. He's been betrayed; he's been threatened. People, monsters, and gods alike have attempted to kill him. But he hasn't found hatred. He leaves it behind him. Percy pushes it to the back of his mind, because this whole thing was all misguided beliefs. And one, truly evil being stood behind it all. So people have been_ manipulated_, but that doesn't form any foundations for hatred. He was taught to put it behind him. Not forgive and forget; put it behind you and don't think about it. Don't hate. Hate will kill you. Hate will be your end.

Percy has found hatred.

He hates something now. Another strong belief he once had has been abandoned, crushed under the weight of his imprisonment.

He had always assumed hatred was something that was like anger, hot, and explosive; something that refused to calm.

It's no surprise, he's wrong again. Hatred and anger are very similar, but they are different. They are different.

Hatred is threaded deep within his bones, throbbing and pounding throughout his being. The gravity of it is astounding. It's all he feels. It weighs him down, so heavily, he feels glued to the cement floor. Hatred isn't sporadic and random. It burns. It burns around his heart. It blisters everything that still remains. His heart, so aching and stressed as it is, feels crushed under this new burden. It's all, and everything, he thinks about.

Hatred is this cold, burning, _passion_.

And he knows when he's been consumed, because it reverberates through his skull, through his _soul_.

Percy knows, that if he was able, if he was awake, he would _murder_ his captor. He would take Riptide and he would stab him in the chest over, and over, and over, and over. Until all he can see are holes. Until he can watch red blood spill on the floor. All of it. He wants to watch his captor's heart stutter and refuse to start again. He wants to see that face look at him in _fear_; the same fear he's felt for so long. He wants to _kill _him.

He wants to eliminate a life. He wants to take his thumb and crush it under his will, smother it, and watch it _die_.

And that's when he knows he's reached his end.

It's a funny thing—life-changing realizations. They occur slowly yet quickly all at the same time. It dawns on you like the sun; except it isn't warm, it's freezing.

The cold settled over him slowly. It started by his feet, drenching his body as it worked its way up to his brain.

Percy Jackson wants to die.

He wants to stop existing.

Percy wants to float away. Scatter in the wind. Die.

Hope has stopped trying to fuel him. It sputtered out. He had kept it alive for too long, desperately trying to keep the light visible, but it faded. It disappeared along with his humanity.

Thinking of it, Percy hasn't seen light in a long time. Everything is dark. Black as the night.

He hasn't moved in so long.

They keep him unconscious now. He used to be awake. He used to fight. He can still feel, though. Every feeling, every inch of guilt that crawls on his skin, he can feel. Guilt is consistent. It never leaves.

Percy is aging. At least, he thinks he's aging. His skin is stretched tightly over fragile bones, hot and dry with an endless fever. He hasn't opened his eyes in a long time. He can tell because they feel crusty, twitching from disuse. It relates well with his seclusion from light.

It's hard to catalogue his injuries. Being in a constant state of limbo skewers the mind. He can't process pain anymore. It still exists; it throbs like nothing he's ever felt before, just hiding beneath a drugged surface. He is far too gone to be able to handle it.

Occasionally he'll rise from his slumber, pulled towards reality when the poison he's being administered starts to wear off. For a second he faces clarity, and then the pain attacks him within moments and he's reduced to a whimpering, mumbling, mess on the floor. Then he'll feel a boot nudge his side, kicking to make sure he's still alive, and a sharp stab is in his arm, and it all fades into dizzying circles.

He wonders if he's being fed. Food has become trivial now. His stomach is an empty hole. All he knows is that his mouth his dreadfully dry and hot, and his lips burn from being cracked and chapped. But those pains are small compared to the others. They are incredibly small.

Bones are broken, he can feel that much. He still bleeds. He can smell it. Blood smells like rust. It sits in a humid fog around his nose, blood; it's all he smells. He can feel under his swollen fingertips, some sticky, some new. It makes it hard to breathe. His lungs are tired. They stutter and struggle for air that is stale and old.

Percy is tired. He just wants it all to end. He wants to forget what he used to have. The memories aren't as strong as they used to be. He doesn't crave it as much anymore. Drugs have scattered them like leaves in the wind. Blonde hair, glints of silver, and grey eyes still flash through his mind, striking a sharp pang of longing through his heart.

He isn't going to survive. He used to dream of his old life. His _future_. He has no future anymore. Now, he dreams of death. He wants to find that last thread of energy, kill him, and then die. That is all he dreams of. He wants his suffering to end. He didn't think he deserved for this to happen. He tried so hard to end the war. And he had. Hadn't he sacrificed enough?

Why wasn't anyone coming for him?

Why didn't anyone care?

And that's what signs the contract; the fact that no one has even bothered to try and save him. Nothing. No one.

No one cares.

He's alone. They forgot about him. He was too much trouble try and rescue. No one wanted to take that risk. He thought he was worth more than that.

Where was his father?

Hadn't anyone tried to rescue him?

Why wouldn't they at least _try_?

No one cares.

They are leaving him to die. Alone. They are going to let him waste away and die. It's not betrayal anymore. Sometimes he doesn't even blame them. He killed people. He was the one who led them into that war. He was the one who led them to their deaths. He was the murderer.

He killed people.

That's why they don't care; he was a murderer already.

Who wants to save a killer?

He killed his friends. Who does that? What kind of evil person does that?

He smiled at them and they smiled back, and then he killed them.

There are so many: Beckendorf, Selena, Luke, and countless others that he inadvertently destructed.

He's evil. It's blatantly obvious now.

Percy wants to die.

He just wants the guilt to end. He wants it _all_ to end.

If he could feel the skin on his face; he'd feel the hot trail that was sliding down from his eyes.

Percy never cried. Crying is pathetic. He never cried once during the war. He never had the time. And he had had hope. Hope for survival. Hope that there was a happy ending in sight. Light.

Hope has disappeared.

More tears trickle down his temples. A lump builds in his throat. An empty sob reverberates through the room. He's dying.

They have won. He's been broken.

Percy Jackson has shattered into a million pieces.

And no one cares.

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><p>Something changed. The atmosphere has been electrified. It smells metallic. That's all Percy can go off anymore, his other senses are lost. But it's different. The air crackles with energy. It's almost refreshing to a point. It's weird; he hasn't felt something nice in what feels like a very long time.<p>

He hears screaming. The energy is dusting off his eardrums, pulling them from the haze. There are strangled yells coming from the hallway. Heavy footsteps fleeing the building, running away. A cracking noise echoes into his room, and then a strangled cry.

He doesn't know what's going on. Are they leaving him?

Is he going to die alone?

Are they finally going to make it all end?

Percy tries to move, but he's still heavy. He still feels like he's going to sink through the floor. There is shouting, an argument; someone is begging for their life. A loud, angry voice reverberates through the building, shaking it to its foundations, and then the begging is abruptly cut off. If his pulse was still able to heighten, Percy thought it would right now.

Then the footsteps are walking away. They are unnaturally heavy, pounding. His hope is leaving. That tiny flame that he thought was dark, has been lit again. But it's dying now. It hurts more than ever. He throbs.

Tears burn in his eyes. They slide down by his temples.

There is a rushing sound. Wind. And then he senses another presence. Someone powerful is near. He hears shoes thudding against the floor. The door is rattled, shaken hard, and then the voice swears in Ancient Greek.

Percy recognizes that word, that voice. He's heard it before. It's hard to recall the memory; it feels like a very long time ago. It's clouded with a fog. But he knows it.

He can hear someone else breathing. The air crackles again. Someone is standing over him, he can sense it.

They intake sharply. "Oh gods." The voice is trembling. A noise that was a cross between a sigh and a whimper echoes through Percy's ears.

He knows that voice. He's heard it before. It's friendly, soft. Percy can feel the person get closer; he can tell that they have crouched in front of him. It's weird having such close contact with another person after so long. He soaks up the presence, because even if they want to hurt him, it still means he's not alone. He hates being alone so much. He would rather die with someone he hated, then die by himself.

A hand prods at his neck, pressing against his artery. The pressure makes him feel the blood that still weakly pumps. The fingers linger, and a sigh of relief drifts through the stale air.

Are they going to save him?

"Percy. Dear child," the being breathes; the voice sounds horrified. It sounds like pity. Pity means people cared. Didn't it? It meant someone cared. It had to. They had to care.

Who was it?

Power. He can taste it in the air. Normal humans didn't radiate this much power. It wasn't one of his friends. It was someone bigger.

He struggles to open his eyes, but only pain strikes him. He whimpers, and his throat rebels and he starts coughing. His lips feel wet. They taste like blood. They smell like it, too.

"It's okay, Percy." The voice soothes, the tone is gruff, angry. "It's okay. We're leaving. I'm rescuing you from here. It's over."

Over. He wants it to be over so much.

Freedom. Percy's heart jumpstarts in his chest and he breaths sharply, straining to lift his hand and touch his savior. Someone wants to help him. Unknowingly, tears have started falling again, but these are different. These are tears of relief. Pain lances through his head and he winces, screwing his face together.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. We're leaving." The voice sounds soothing.

Then an arm is threading beneath his shoulders, pulling him up from the cement. Adrenaline rushes through his system and Percy weakly paws at the being, whimpering and coughing in pain. "Quiet. I'm helping you." Percy silences. He struggles to open his eyes, and sore lids flutter open. Everything is blurry and distorted. He can make out the gray rock of his cage, and tan skin in front of his face. His head lolls and then is caught by a shoulder. "This is going to hurt," the voice warns.

Another arm goes under his knees, and then his swiftly lifted into the air. Percy hears a distinct crack, and cries out, pushing his head into the person's neck. White hot pain is throbbing from his midsection and tears fall down his face. The cotton under his cheek is salty and wet. Pure agony is everywhere. It's all he feels. It never ends. Why can't it end? He never _tried_ to do anything wrong. The pain never went away. Yet another pitiful sob escapes from his lips.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," the voice rambles, sounding helpless, despite the powerful aura. "Apollo will heal you. I promise. This is all over." Percy struggles to breathe. "Percy, I promise. I'm getting you out of here."

Apollo; he knows that name. Who is it? Why can't he think? Everything is fuzzy.

His head is aching and everything is turning violently. He's confused and tired. Every breath sends shards of glass through his lungs. The arms readjust him and he is pulled tighter against his rescuer's chest. Percy's left hand flops weakly and catches on a piece of fabric, a pocket. He holds it in his fingers.

Pain is making him shiver, and he moans in a tearless sob and shifts towards the being, as if he can hide from everything; as if the person wants to help him. They sound nice. But then, so had his captors. They had sounded nice, too. And look what they did.

He can't breathe.

Everything _hurts_. He whimpers again and sucks in a ragged breath. More hot tears. He's pathetic.

"I'm sorry, Percy. I will put you to sleep. When you'll wake up it'll be better. It'll all be better. I promise, Percy."

Percy's vocal chords haven't been used in a long time, but he manages to talk.

"-ait." he rasps. He even has to strain to hear it.

The voice gets louder, rushed. "Percy? What is it? What am I waiting for? What's wrong?"

His energy is draining fast. "-who're you?" he slurs pathetically. Warmth is slowly seeping through his bones. He suspects it's the work of something else. Warmth is something new. He's been cold for so long.

"Hermes. Now sleep, you're safe."

He knows that name; it matches the voice. He can't figure it out, but they're offering him safety.

And if Percy wasn't about to pass out, he'd almost laugh. He hasn't felt safety in what feels like years. Safety was a foreign word, but it sounds nice. It sounds like something he should like.

Percy sinks against the warm chest, melting. A soft breath tumbles from his lips. There's no pain. He's blissfully free. Hermes didn't even want to hurt him. He was taking him away. Anywhere but here was okay.

So he slides right into unconsciousness without so much as a second thought.

Black floods him, and Percy lets go.


	2. Clarity

_"Take the first step, no more, no less, and the next will be revealed."_

_-Ken Roberts_

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><p>Chapter Two: Clarity<p>

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><p>Awareness played with Percy like a fish reaching for bait on a hook. It swooped in and out of his consciousness like a black bird, never staying long enough for him to get a firm grasp on it. He was getting taunted, and somehow, he didn't even mind. It was like there was a big wall erected in his mind, blocking him from feeling anything and everything. He was floating in a huge expanse of black nothingness. There was no difference between up and down. Percy just existed, flirting with the edges of clarity.<p>

He should want to wake up. He should want to see the light again. He should need to break free of this watery prison, but he didn't.

Percy was so _tired_. He was mind-numbingly, overpoweringly, _exhausted_. It kept his eyelids unmovable, completely immobile, dragged down by hundred pound weights. He had been tired for so long. He could tell.

All those feelings, all that pain, it was all still there. It lingered on the outskirts, held back by some powerful being, drugging him to nothingness. Percy was okay with it. He knew—it was painfully obvious—he would be crushed if he remembered everything now. Because while things were blurry now, he still could tell, all of the hidden memories, they were _black_.

He was so _angry_. He burned with an incomparable rage that was only tempered with potent drugs. It wouldn't last. This freedom, this numbness, it wasn't going to last. Whoever was preventing him from feeling couldn't hold it back for forever.

Percy had to wake up at some point. He wanted to hide, but he couldn't.

The floating feeling was so _nice_. It was like swimming in the water. He was just below the surface, staring up at the white sun that existed above him, foreign, and scary. If he went up there he might get burned. It was unknown, scary. And below his legs, his feet, it was dark. It was completely black, rippling with waves that came from nowhere. He didn't want to go there. It was ominous; it was threatening.

It made Percy scared. He thought he was escaping from the madness, not holding hand with it again. _Fear_ had been everything. Fear had kept him alive, and it had pushed him towards death. It was the poison and the cure, like chemotherapy to the cancer patient. It was killing him and keeping him alive all at the same time.

He didn't _want_ any of this. Why couldn't it all just end? He was sick of being scared, sick of being hurt, and sick of being alone. He was sick of being _angry_.

Percy was sick of it, but that didn't mean it would go away. It still burned and blistered. He didn't feel it, but he knew it was there. It was comparable to breaking your arm and staring at it in complete shock.

He was so tired.

He wanted it all to stop. The clocks should stop ticking, stop moving, and freeze in their spot; that was what he wanted. It was quite funny; he never got what he wanted.

Whether he wanted them to or not, his senses were slowly coming back. His brain was lethargic; crawling through his thoughts was like pushing through thick mud in a swamp, he felt like he was backtracking more than getting anywhere useful.

Hearing came first. At first all he heard was running water, dripping, or rushing, maybe a waterfall or a river. It was… nice. Then they settled into mumbles, voices. Sometimes they were loud, people shouting. He couldn't make out the words. But they sounded angry, frustrated. And then, there were the sounds that were with him a lot. All the time. It was girl's voice, soft and patient. She constantly stayed with Percy. A majority of the time she was comforting, always quiet and urging him to wake up; but other times she was scared. Her voice shook and trembled, her words got choked, and she got mad. She never left.

There were other voices, ones that stood out from the others. A male voice, specifically. It was low and smooth, majestic almost. He sounded powerful, and regal. And he stayed a lot. Not quite always next to Percy, but in the room, talking, his voice even and controlled. He never got frustrated like the others. At rare times, his voice was right next to Percy's ear, or at least it sounded like it. He didn't know for sure.

Another voice, female, very much the same as the other girl, but slightly different, was with him often. She was maternal, sounded like a mom. Percy figured this girl—woman—had children, or used to. Maybe they were related. Maybe she was _his _mom. It was frustrating. He couldn't remember _anything_. Or, he did, it just wouldn't catalogue itself, all the memories, they didn't know where to go yet.

Smell came next, more trivial than the others, but a sense nonetheless. The girl smelled nice, really nice, like fruit. It was light, sweet smell that constantly floated around her. Percy liked it. Whoever she was, she had good taste. But another smell, a much more prominent one, more _ingrained_, lingered. Salt. It was like an ocean breeze was always lingering underneath his nose. It didn't make much sense, yet it was comforting. Relaxing, and reassuring.

Touch, at the moment, was the most valued of the sense that had finally come around to Percy. He wanted to feel the physical more than anything. The girl, she touched him a lot. She held his hands, particularly rubbing the skin between his thumb and forefinger, or running her fingers along his knuckles. The girl was constantly in his hair, pulling and tugging, stroking the strands on the side of his head. It was nice. He liked it. It provided an anchor, something he could latch onto. There were other people. The stronger smell of salt was sometimes accompanied by a large and warm, calloused hand on his forehead. That touch was okay too.

The other feelings were coming back too.

He could feel the bed underneath him, a real, soft, impossibly comfortable bed. There was a fluffy pillow behind his head and against his legs. A silk sheet was pulled to the middle of his chest, blissfully cool against his bare skin. Things were starting to fall into place, awareness creeping up on him.

His ears, which used to feel like they had popped, were clear, words starting to make sense. The steady sound of his own breathing was relaxing, an anchor to the real world. Percy heard quick footsteps and then a presence sat down next to him. He smelled fruit, and then his hand was picked up, a fingers tangled in his hair.

"Hey, Percy." She crooned softly, stroking his hands. One hand left his head and picked at the blankets across his chest, readjusting them to perfection. Her nervous habit. She sighed, the back of her fingers running along the skin above the sheet. "You're cooler than you were before. Apollo said you got a fever from the overhaul of power he had to use to heal you." She laughed quietly, "But hey, I always have tried to tell you that you're hot." The next breath she drew in was wet sounding. "You just never listen, Percy."

Her voice was so sad. So close to breaking. He wanted to help her. She wanted him to wake up. So that's what he did.

He shifted, lax muscles flared with soreness and Percy grimaced in pain. "Percy? Sweetheart, you waking up?"

Percy tried to talk, but it came out as a bunch of mumbles. His throat was tender and his mouth was dry, words got stuck in his mouth.

"Hey, hey. Shh, take your time. There's no rush." She soothed, her hand slid under his neck, gently rubbing his skin. "Can you try and open your eyes?" Percy rolled his head towards her voice, searching for her. "I'm right here, Percy. I just want to see those eyes of yours. Those pretty eyes of yours."

Percy's eyelids felt sticky and crusty, but he pulled them open, staring wearily above him. Everything was a blurry mess, colors melted together in a blond collage. She was leaning directly over his head, inches from his face. He got to see the white of her teeth as she smiled the warmest smile he'd ever seen. A drop of water hit his cheek and he flinched away, feeling it slide down his face.

She laughed wetly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, guess I'm getting kind of emotional." The girl didn't say anything after that, just searching his face, looking slightly awed. Relieved.

"Can you talk, Percy? If you can't its okay; I just—. It'd be nice to hear your voice." She was shaking.

He got hit with a sledgehammer. Memories ran through his head in a messy slideshow.

"'beth?" he whispered, voice cracking pitifully.

She laughed loudly, sounding like she was ready to start sobbing. "Yeah, Percy. Annabeth. Gods, it's nice to hear your voice. You—."

Percy lost track of what she was saying, too tired to follow her rambles. He weakly lifted his hand, plucking at the sheet around his chest. Annabeth followed his eyes and leaned back. "What's wrong? Are you hot? I should probably call Apollo. He should check on you. And your mom and Poseidon have been so worried. I should—."

"-ait." He interrupted, even he had to strain to hear his voice.

Annabeth stopped talking and stared in blatant worry at him. "Wait for what?" she asked anxiously.

"Jus' don' leave."

Her face crumpled immediately and she shook her head. "No, no. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here." She stroked his hair again. "You're tired, sweetheart. You can go back to sleep. I'll stay with you the whole time, I promise."

Percy let out a heavy breath, his eyelids already closing, and slowly slipped back into sleep again.

Annabeth ran her thumb along his cheek, savoring the quiet sounds of his breath and the soft feel of his skin. She smiled, although it was more sad than anything.

"You're back, Percy. You're safe. I got you, I swear. You're safe. You're going to be fine."

She bravely tried to convince herself of that.

Annabeth sniffed, retracting from Percy and stood up. She walked to the door, and stepped out into the long hallway.

"Poseidon?" She said, looking towards the sky. "Percy's awake. Although I'm sure you're aware of that. Can you bring Sally? And Apollo. Just to check on him please."

There was a loud crack as the air was shoved out of the way, announcing Poseidon's arrival. At the same time the door swung open and the current form of Apollo strode in, Sally running in behind him.

"He woke up."

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><p><strong>There's chapter two. I'm debating on deleting it, which is sad. I really liked this story and had a pretty solid plot lined up, but no one else seems to like it!<strong>

**Alas, review please. Tell me what you think. :) **


	3. A Battle of Wills

_"Believing is easier than thinking. Hence so many more believers than thinkers."_

_- Bruce Calvert_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: A Battle of Wills<strong>

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><p>Percy was tired, and it was threaded all the way in his bones. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but he guessed it had been a while.<p>

He also felt… odd. Strangely electrified. It was like he coming off of a caffeine high, completely drained, yet feeling slightly wired. He figured this was how people felt like after they got struck by lightning. Percy thought the effect was similar to when he blew up Mount St. Helens and landed on Calypso's island.

Drawn from his stream of thought, he heard mumbling outside of the door.

A male voice was clear; he sounded restrained, yet patient. "Ms. Jackson, I understand that you want to see your son, but I'm asking that you let me check on him first. It took a lot of my power to heal everything, and I don't know the repercussions of that much energy in a demigod."

There was an impatient sigh, and then a worried voice. "Yes, I understand. But this is my son we're talking about. I just—. Percy," her voice broke, cutting off with a shaky breath.

"I'll be quick, Sally." He sounded empathetic, soft, using her real name like that. It was strange for a god.

Mom. This was his _mom_. His mother. She was the only person who had been with him for his entire life; the one person who never left once.

Never abandoned him.

"Just please tell me when you're done. And tell me he'll be okay." Her voice dropped in volume. "Please tell me he'll be okay."

Apollo didn't say anything for a second, and Percy wondered what he was doing. Was he staring at his mom? Was he trying to give her comfort? Was he debating on what to say?

"He'll be okay."

His words cut off shortly, and Percy rolled his heavy head to stare at the opening door. He saw the back of a blonde head, and a fitted red T-shirt that sat loosely on well-built shoulders as the god slowly shut the entrance. Apollo then turned around and gave Percy an appraising glance, probably searching for something wrong.

That was almost kind of funny; Apollo wouldn't find anything that was visible.

"So the golden boy's awake?" Apollo mused, but the words weren't said with any malice. Apollo reached his bed and looked at Percy, an indescribable smirk on his face. Percy recognized the form he was currently using. Apollo looked like he belonged partying in college, not as an ancient Greek god.

Percy blinked slowly, meeting Apollo's eyes with a dazed stare.

"How are we feeling today? Any large burns, twinkling satyrs above you, or spontaneous combustion?"

Percy numbly shook his head.

Apollo let out a soft laugh. "Well, I'm glad for that. I believe it would be awfully messy if you did," he said. "Now, do you feel like you're running a fever at all?"

Sighing heavily, Percy glanced down and sluggishly grabbed the sheet that rested over his chest, clutching it in his fingers. He swallowed dryly and whispered, "'M kinda hot." His voice cracked harshly, but Apollo seemed to understand.

The god's face changed imperceptibly; he looked almost sad. "That's understandable, a lot of energy will heat the human body. Similar to the effect ambrosia and nectar have on demigods, no?" Percy assumed it was a rhetorical question because he kept talking. "It'll go away eventually. And your wrist?"

Percy's eyes trailed down to his arm, and then he looked up at Apollo.

"It was broken, Percy."

Helplessly confused, he shifted restlessly and looked away.

He heard Apollo take a heavy breath and watched him settle in a chair that he didn't know was beside his bed.

"How much do you remember, Percy?"

Percy swallowed noisily and avoided looking at the god, preferring to stare out of the long windows on the wall in front of him. He watched the incredibly vibrant trees sway in the wind, deep gold vines curling around the trunks, and blooming in scattered blossoms. He wouldn't doubt it if they were all actually real gold.

"Percy." Apollo's voice was strangely soft, almost comforting.

"Some. All of it. I don't know," he broke off, pitifully keening. Tears burned on the corners of his eyes. He was so confused. Nothing made sense. There were holes in every one of his thoughts. He couldn't process _anything_.

Apollo met his eyes with honest worry and said, "When Hermes retrieved you… and I healed you, I muddled your short-term memory. I will replace it when you're fully capable again, but you have to remember that you were in quite the state when you came here. I meant you no harm and I intend to give them back."

Percy looked at Apollo, his eyes shining, and his throat developing a suspicious lump. "I can't remember any of it. Why am I here?" he pleaded.

For a god, Apollo appeared awfully stressed. Scrubbing his cheek with his hand, he cleared his throat and said, "Percy, you obviously know that you've been… gone for a while now."

"—ow long?" Percy asked quickly, worried.

"Three weeks. A demigod and a few of his comrades wanted to get information, and you were their target. Poseidon and his son, Triton, only found your location a week ago, and then Hermes was sent to rescue you. I don't believe I tampered with that memory. My brother brought you here five days ago. You've been unconsciousness ever since."

Percy had almost been gone for a month. A month. Four weeks of his life gone. Disappeared. Never going to be used again.

Apollo must've sensed his distress because he attempted to soothe him. "Percy, you are going to be fine. There were no permanent injuries."

Percy blinked again and let his head fall to the side to look at Apollo.

"What was wrong with me?" he asked. His voice almost sounded innocent, childlike.

Apollo kneaded his hands together, as if unsure if he should let go of the information. He met Percy's gaze with steel in his eyes, a silent warning to be prepared transferred between the two. Percy stared right back. Apollo relented. "You had five broken ribs, a broken wrist, a fractured ankle, two sprains, and a cocktail of drugs in your system. Your brain was swollen, almost to the point of no repair from more than one severe concussion." He slowed down. "And the biggest problem… You were…"

"I was what?" Percy whispered.

Apollo's face creased, the glimpses of the indescribable emotions of a timeless being passing and fleeting with every moment.

"Forget I said that, Percy."

Apollo wasn't going to tell Percy and he knew it. He was too tired to argue with a god. He was confused, and shot—frazzled was the only word that even came close to explaining how he felt. Being touched by someone that powerful did things to you. He was healed of course, but still zapped. Lightning was the only analogy that fit.

"Your mom is pacing outside your door. I think she'd like to see you." He was smirking now, the awkward silence having no effect on his present amusement.

Apollo disappeared with a popping noise as the air rushed to fill the empty space. Almost simultaneously, the door flew open and Sally rushed in.

Gods, he'd forgotten how beautiful his mom was. Even with tears falling down her red cheeks, her hair a greasy mess, and wearing a baggy sweatshirt, she was the nicest thing Percy had seen in a long time. She didn't say a word, probably couldn't. She just ran towards him, pulled him up from the bed like he was still five years old and held him. Her hand was cradling the back of his head, and he buried his nose into her neck, relaxing into the rocking motion.

"Oh, God, I missed you." She breathed messily. Percy could feel her heart stuttering against his chest. "Percy, honey, say something. Please, say something."

"Mom?" he asked, his voice breaking.

She pulled back from the embrace, her hand holding the back of his neck, drinking in his appearance. "You're back. You're okay. I love you. You know that right? I love you. More than anything in this world, I love you."

"I missed you, Mom." His voice broke painfully. Sally's face crumpled again and she gathered him back in the hug. Percy shifted, her arms pressing into a bruise on his back. With the eerie mom-instincts that he missed so much, she loosened her grip and looked at him in alarm. "Oh gosh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? Percy, I didn't mean to! Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sor—."

"Mom." He whispered. "I'm just tired." He leaned more heavily into her, resting his forehead on her shoulder and letting out a heavy breath. "I'm just tired."

She gave him this soft little mom-laugh, one more characteristic that he was learning to appreciate so much more, and her hands started running through his hair. "I know you're tired, honey. I know."

It didn't matter that his mom was holding him like a little kid; it didn't matter that she was rocking him like he was five; and it didn't matter that he was sixteen and being comforted by his mom. He didn't care.

"Mom, did I miss your birthday?" he mumbled against her shoulder.

The rocking stalled for a moment but continued without fail. "You didn't miss my birthday at all. It's tomorrow. And I couldn't care less. This is the best present I could've asked for."

Percy laughed wetly. "That was really cheesy, Mom." His eyes slipped closed as he listened to her chuckle, fingers gently kneading his head.

"And you're really tired. So I'll let that one fly."

Percy sighed heavily, too exhausted to try and return the hug. He was completely drained.

"You can sleep, honey."

That sounded nice. But he felt off. Something was lingering in the back of his mind. He felt unnaturally heavy. Oppressed. Something… dark, was lurking on the background. He could feel the raging emotions, memories, trying to push their way in. Percy was going to remember.

And he wasn't sure he wanted to.

It was lighter not to remember any of it. He could tell how devastated he'd be if he got them back. He didn't want to bear that weight.

He didn't know if he could.

Sally still hadn't let him go. Percy could feel his breaths starting slow, the tension in his muscles relaxing, and he soon surrendered all of the weight in his upper body to his mom. He faintly heard her whisper something, but it got lost in the midst of his daze.

He fell asleep in the arms of his mom, the future and the past fighting with each other in a battle of wills.

Percy wasn't sure who was going to win.

* * *

><p>"Son."<p>

"Percy."

"I understand you're tired, but I'd like to talk to you."

"It'd be really nice to talk to you."

Percy stirred, awareness rushing him to his bed. Somehow he had gotten underneath the covers, and he noticed his mom was gone.

"Your mom is sleeping in another room. She's been very worried about you." Poseidon paused. "So have I."

Percy blinked, clearing his vision and staring up at his visitor. His dad was dressed differently than he'd ever seen him before. He looked younger, maybe in his mid-thirties, long and lean, wearing a black shirt and green swim shorts. It was odd to see him so relaxed. So human.

"Dad," his voice cracked and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. Poseidon wasn't supposed to see him so weak.

Poseidon laughed quietly, settling on a black chair beside him. "Percy, do not feel so chagrined. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Absolutely nothing at all."

Percy flattened his palms on the bed, working to sit up, and was startled when he felt two hands slid under his arms and lifted him to rest against the white wall. Percy had never even hugged his dad, and even if he'd wanted to, he would have to be the one to initiate it.

He avoided Poseidon's gaze and stared at the floor. "Thanks."

"How do you feel?"

Percy scratched the back of his head. "Honestly? Kind of… fried."

"It's a lot of power for a human. Apollo is very proficient at what he does."

Percy nodded slowly. "Yeah, thankfully for me."

Neither of them knew what to say. They didn't know each other. He shifted restlessly, his fingers gently rubbing his left wrist. Apollo may have fully healed him, but the bone still felt odd. Not painful, just uncomfortable.

"I'm glad your back, Percy. I—." He dropped off, almost choking on his own words.

Percy felt the familiar sensation of his stomach sinking and stared out of the window.

"Um, well, P-Dad. I'm pretty tired. Not to cut you off or anything… but, uh…"

Poseidon coughed loudly and nodded. "Yes, that's—that's very understandable." He stood up. He paused between the doorway, looking back at Percy.

"Get some sleep, Percy. I'll—." His face was strained for a second, and then he disappeared.

The door had barely swung shut before it reopened and Annabeth appeared, looking at the god in confusion as he passed by.

Gods, she was beautiful. Even with her curly hair pulled back, sweats and an overlarge T-shirt on, she absolutely stunning. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.

"So, I heard a little bit of your conversation there and…"

"It sounded painfully awkward?"

She nodded bluntly. "Yeah."

"You know, Annabeth. Eavesdropping is rude."

She shrugged and sent him a small smirk. "It wasn't intentional."

Percy let out a heavy breath and sank against the unforgiving stone behind him. "Yeah, yeah, sure it wasn't." A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over him, and he closed his eyes. "This being tired all the time thing is getting really old." He shifted, uncomfortable, and continued, "and this wall isn't exactly forgiving."

"Then lay down, I don't mind." Annabeth said.

Percy grimaced and rolled his shoulders, which were starting to ache from the pressure. He definitely wasn't up to speed yet.

"I want to keep talking to you, though."

And then she rolled her eyes in that way that said she was playing it off like he was being ridiculous but in reality she was completely serious.

"Lean forward."

He was puzzled, but he did it anyway. Annabeth stood up and swung her leg around his back, settling behind him. Percy sighed and relaxed against her chest, letting his head hit her sternum.

"How are you feeling?"

There was a hole in her sweatpants, exposing her knee. He started picking at the loose strands of cloth that hung over her skin. "People keep asking me that." He mumbled.

"People are worried about you. Now answer the question."

He trailed his finger over a white scar, probably from some childhood fall that he didn't know about.

"I feel like I got struck by lightning."

He felt her chest vibrate as she laughed and said, "I really hope you don't know what that feels like."

"Oh, so I can carry a lightning bolt but I can't get struck by one?"

Percy swore he could hear her eyes roll.

"There are differences, Perce. Differences."

The fingers trailing up and down his arm were making him drowsy. And she smelled good. And gods he'd missed this. Being with her. Talking with her. They didn't even have to say anything, just knowing she was near was good enough. It was nice. Why did that feel so foreign?

"Yeah, yeah. Keep it up, funny girl."

His hair was pressed against his head as she rested her cheek on it, now lightly running her forefinger down the center of his chest. "I missed this."

"Me too."

Percy sighed tiredly and let his fingers curl on top her knee. His eyes drifted downwards. "I'm wearing a shirt." He said, mildly surprised.

"You're welcome."

A strange version of excitement stirred in his stomach and up his spine. "You changed me? And I slept through that?"

She huffed in laughter. "Didn't even twitch. Said my name though."

He smiled softly, "I wouldn't doubt it."

Annabeth flattened her hand over his heart.

He fell asleep a few minutes later, too comfortable to ask her to move. And his dreams followed him. Shadows flashed past his inner eye. They faintly resembled a hellhound. Dark as the pits of Tartarus, and just as evil.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, you guys are awesome. Understand that when I started this, I got around 3 reviews on the first chapter; so I was like "Well, whatever I'll delete it." And then BANG I get all of these people saying they love it. I got whiplash, I'm telling you! But anyways, I really appreciate all of your feedback and I promise I'll continue as long as people like it! <strong>

**Now back to the story; Percy doesn't remember most of it, but things are starting to... Without disclosing very much, I can guarantee the angst is coming. **

**This is set from June (when Percy was first kidnapped) to July, which is the present time. This is after TLH and disregards the Son of Neptune, obviously. So, Percy's sixteen. I slid in Sally's birthday because I wanted to. Who knows when her birthday is! **

**OH. Rest in peace Jani Lane. Heaven really _isn't _really too far away now. Gosh, I love that song. :( Warrant, we'll miss you. **

**If you guys have any questions, feel free to ask me in a review. I usually respond pretty quickly!**

**Thanks ;)**


	4. Resurgence

"_He had to deal all at once with the packed regrets and stifled memories of an inarticulate lifetime.__"_

_- Edith Wharton_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Resurgence<strong>

* * *

><p>There was a soft knocking at the door. Apollo didn't bother to wait for Percy to say anything, because he usually didn't ask for permission. He was a god, Percy wasn't going to mess with that. He owed Apollo more than he could ever repay; he saved his life.<p>

"So," he sighed professionally. "Give me an update. How are you feeling?"

He was hearing that question way too much.

In order to prove his point, Percy swung his legs off of the bed, and faced Apollo. He wiggled his toes and stretched his shoulders, cataloguing various hurts. The burnt feeling had finally dissipated; he no longer felt like he'd hugged an electrical wire. His wrist still ached occasionally, and he got cold fairly quickly, but otherwise he was pretty okay.

A hand pressed against his chest. Startled, Percy jerked back and looked at Apollo in confusion. The god raised an eyebrow and explained, "Well if you're not going to answer my question, I intend to find out for myself. I'm checking to make sure you don't have a heart murmur anymore."

"Why would I have that?"

He glanced up at me and withdrew his hand. "It was a lot of power."

Percy rested his elbows on his knees and tiredly scratched the back of his head. His hair was a complete mess. "So am I good?"

"Satisfactory. You're welcome to walk out of here at any time. Although I still need to remove the memory block."

Memory block. Percy took a deep breath and slowly released it.

"Hey, about that—."

Apollo was gone. Slightly angered, but too weary to act on it, Percy grumbled something unintelligible and stood up. This was the longest he'd ever stayed in Olympus, yet he hadn't seen anything remarkable. He was staying in a private wing of the godly version of a hospital that was squeezed into the back corner of the city. Injuries were uncommon in the world of the immortal, and it was rarely used except the mild case of godly sickness. Nobody except Apollo came into his room, and he specifically remembered Annabeth laughing about a dryad that had started leaking sap when she saw Apollo.

They both found that highly amusing. Apparently the gods were the human equivalent of celebrities up on the mountain.

Annabeth had just left to go to the bathroom when Apollo walked in, so Percy decided he'd take a look around and see if he could find her; because every guy learns pretty quickly that girls rarely ever went to the bathroom to pee; they have inner motives.

He stepped outside of his door and entered something that appeared to be like a waiting room. The lights were dim and couches and recliners with _Aphrodite's Daily_ sitting on the nightstand beside them. Percy smirked at the cover, which showcased a provocative motion picture of an unknown demigod kissing a satyr with a surprised look on her face. The title read _Acacia in Taboo Relationship with Satyr!_ and Percy had to appreciate the creative headline.

Apparently Olympians didn't have much of a life.

Percy noticed the door to his left and decided to check it out—hopefully it led outside. Being stuck in the same room for three days was starting to make him claustrophobic. The soft, fruity breeze that wafted in front of his face removed all feelings of getting stuck in a box. It smelled like nectar and flowers and fresh air. Percy took a big breath of it and continued into the courtyard. The trees that he saw out of his window were even more magnificent in person. Their trunks were a deep amber color, and sprouted vibrant leaves that blossomed golden flowers.

Percy still longed for Central Park. For his home. There was something wrong about staying in Olympus. He didn't fit in. He missed concrete streets and crowded red brick apartments over college kid filled cafes. New York was his home. He missed his normal life.

Okay—so his life wasn't exactly normal. But it was normal for him.

He still felt unnaturally heavy. Sluggish. It was like he was missing something, like he had the entire puzzle solved except for this big fat piece right in the middle. His memory was like wading through mud. Before he went missing was blurred, and getting rescued was blurred. He wasn't sure what was what, and if it had actually happened. All he knew is that whenever he thought about those gaping four weeks, a shiver went down his spine and it felt like he got drenched with cold water.

"Percy! Percy! Where are you? Percy!" A hysterical female voice was coming behind the door he'd just left.

Annabeth sounded terrified. The door flew open with excessive force and she burst out onto the granite stone. Her eyes were wide and she locked in on Percy and started sprinting towards him.

He tensed, unsure of whether she was going to hug him or beat him, as she latched her arms around his chest.

"What were you thinking?" she screamed, back off and glaring at him.

Percy's heart was hammering against his ribs. Something about her panic was freaking him out. "I was thinking…" he started slowly, "that I wanted to go outside."

Blonde eyebrows screwed together as she argued back, "And you couldn't have told me where you were going? Or waited for me to get back? Or let me go with you?"

"Since when do I have to give you a play by play of where I'm going?" he asked.

Annabeth dropped his arms and stepped back, her hands pulling through her unruly blonde curls that were trapped in a ponytail. Her gray eyes were impossibly wide. "Since you went missing! Okay? Since you were gone for a month. Without a trace. Not even a word. All I got was a call from your mom saying that you never came home that night. And then nothing! Okay? So, excuse me if I freak out a little bit!"

He meant to come up with some sort of apology, something like I didn't realize but it came out as, "Oh."

Annabeth huffed a little laugh, her face buried in her hands, and it sounded closer to tears than happiness.

Percy stepped forward and gently grabbed her elbow, tugging her into his chest. She loosened like a bow string into the hug, and the amount of trust Percy was feeling was staggering. Annabeth then turned and completely embraced him, her hands pressing against the small of his back.

"I'm sorry I flipped out," she breathed into his shoulder. "You just… it was too long."

"Yeah, yeah it was." He agreed with her.

One of her hands slipped from his back and crawled up his chest, until she had it wrapped around the back of his neck. Her grip was tight. Annabeth looked turned her head to the side, and guided Percy's lips to hers.

"I've also waited for this, for a really long time."

* * *

><p>"I don't want my memories back."<p>

Apollo jerked his head and asked, "What?"

"I said," Percy coughed. "I don't want them back. Look, I don't even remember anything from the past month. And I still know that whatever happened to me back there was bad."

Apollo's face screwed up and he ran his hand through his blond hair. "Percy, I understand that it scares you, but this is—." He cut off, seemingly lost for words.

Percy sank into his bed, desperately trying to come up with a way to convince the god that didn't need those memories. They were creeping on the outskirts. They were black, heavy, and ugly. He didn't need to know what happened, he didn't want to. "You don't understand. I can… I may not remember what happened, but I still…" he took a deep breath. "I have these feelings. They're… dark. Painful. Obviously, those people, or whatever they were, wanted information… and they were willing to kill for it."

The god gave him an indescribable look and sat on the chair across from Percy. "This is interference. This isn't a permanent thing, Percy. It's temporary. It can't last forever. I'm sorry." He said.

"But can't you make it?" Percy questioned, throwing his arms out to the side. There was tone of desperation to his voice.

Apollo let out a heavy sigh and clenched his hands together. "Those memories, good or not, are apart of you, Percy. If I just keep making them blurry it's not going to help you. I know that you can feel them in the background."

Percy swallowed noisily and looked away.

"They're apart of who are you now, Percy. And you need to accept that."

Frustrated, he launched up for his bed and walked over to the window. A blue songbird fluttered in front of the tree, blinked at him, and then flew away, its wings fluttering a million times a minute.

"I don't want to." He said.

"You need to." Apollo said. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can give you a choice in the matter. I really am sorry, Percy."

Percy swung around on his feet. "Are you?" he challenged. "What do you care what I remember and what I don't. You're a god. As soon as you're through with me you can move onto the next human chick you're gonna bang. Why would I matter to you? I don't. I get that. Okay, I get that."

"Percy—."

"—all I'm asking is that you just let this part go. You're going to live forever anyway. Call it a mistake. Forget about it. I just don't want to remember this stuff, Apollo. I'm begging you right now. I don't."

Apollo was quiet. "Percy, you have to."

"What makes you think you're the one that gets to decide that? I'm the one who's got all of this crap inside me! I'm the one who will have to go through it! So I don't understand how you get a say in this at all!"

Apollo stood up and shouted, "Because I do! This isn't my choice, Percy Jackson, but you're going to remember! Now we can either sit here like insolent children and argue about this, or we can get it over with. It's your choice."

"Whose choice is it, then?" Percy asked, his voice suddenly quiet, resigned. Apollo relaxed and gave Percy a grimace. "Oh, that's right, 'I can't tell you that'." Percy mocked scornfully. He sighed heavily, giving in. "I want Annabeth in here. And my mom."

Apollo's face softened. "Okay."

"Can you get them?" he asked quietly.

Apollo said, "If you will give me a moment."

There was a loud popping noise and then he disappeared into thin air. Percy inhaled deeply and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the wall. His mind was getting heavier already. The memories were pushing. Blackness. Encroaching. He was going to lose. It was inevitable.

The air cracked and Annabeth's warm hand was on his shoulder. "Percy, he told me." She whispered.

She leaned against the wall, inches away from his face; her hand slid down over his heart. It was beating rapidly.

"Do you think this is right?" he asked.

Her fingers bunched up the material of his shirt. "I'm not the best person to be asking about the science of what's wrong and what's right. But I do think you need to remember this. Otherwise, it's going to bother you for the rest of your life. You told me about the feeling you get…"

"Yeah," he sniffed, "yeah I did."

"I'll be with you, Perce. We'll get through this. You will."

"With my luck?"

Annabeth gave him a courtesy laugh and smiled softly.

"Are you ready?"

Percy faced Apollo, swallowed nervously and nodded. His mom was standing towards the corner, her arms wrapped around her torso, and her face pale. She gave him a weak grin. She was shaking.

So was he.

Apollo stepped in front of Percy, looking tall and grave. "Percy, I don't know how you're going to react to this. It's most likely that you'll walk out of here with no problems. I'll make sure to get all of it. But…"

Annabeth was standing right next to him, her hand on his upper arm, gently kneading his muscle.

"Wait."

Percy looked towards the voice. "Dad? What are you doing here?" he asked.

Poseidon walked around Apollo and approached him. "I need to talk to you before you do this, if that is okay." He looked towards Apollo and the god nodded. Poseidon took Percy's shoulder and steered him towards the door to the courtyard. "We will only be a moment," he announced. And then slammed it shut.

Once they were alone, Poseidon put both hands on Percy's shoulders and stared him in the eyes.

"What is it, Dad?" Percy asked, confused, and relieved; he still wasn't ready to remember anything. He'd broken out in a cold sweat standing in front of Apollo. It was weird looking at his dad when he was this age. He looked so young. Poseidon appeared to be a thirty-something bachelor, not a god. Only his ancient eyes gave away the image. "Why do you look different?" Percy blurted.

Poseidon's face crinkled and he smiled, even if it was a bit forced. "With the gravity of the war now over, my kingdom has improved greatly. And recently there has been a, how should I say this? There has been a _huge_ influx in the pollution protection of you humans. It's quite impressive really. Now, this isn't what I came out here to talk to you about."

"You came to talk to me about the past month, didn't you?"

His face darkened. "Yes, I did."

"Why?" Percy asked.

It didn't make much sense. Poseidon hadn't been a big participator in his life until a few years ago. And that was only when he was needed to help clear his dad's name. It still bugged him, getting used like that. It rubbed him wrong. Other kids didn't have to go through that. Annabeth didn't. Her mom actually tried to help her out once in a while. Poseidon didn't.

It was wrong.

"When I discovered your location, Percy… I, peeked, so to say."

Percy urged, "And..?"

Poseidon squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly warding off bad memories. "It wasn't good, Percy. And I don't want you to remember any of it, I don't. It's not my choice. And—. I thought that I should…"

"What? Warn me?" Percy argued. "I haven't been completely blind this whole time. I can tell it's bad." He stepped back from Poseidon's hands. "I just…" he swallowed, "I just want to get this over with." Percy started for the door and then turned around at the last minute. "Look, I appreciate your… you know."

Poseidon disappeared in a wash of blue sea water.

Percy walked through the doorway and barely registered the figure in front of him, before he watched a palm rest on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Percy."

Everything started drowning in black paint. A stab of agony plunged into Percy's head and his knees buckled, a dull thud announcing their meeting with the floor. The pain hit his every nerve, every fiber, every cell in his body. Electrical shocks pulsed through his limbs, and he vaguely felt himself curl into a ball, shivering. Small seizure like shakes shook him like a rag doll as the pain left him breathless.

"Make it stop," he pleaded to the dark. "Please, make it stop."

Empty sobs fell from his lips.

He was alone again.

The rush of memories swept him under.

* * *

><p><strong>Do you like the cliffhanger? I do! A lot! Until it reminds me of how much writing I have planned for the next chapter... <strong>

**My poor fingers. **

**So, what do you think? And I really appreciate all of your reviews and favorites! They mean the world to me! I wouldn't continue writing this without you guys! **

**DID YOU READ THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE SON OF NEPTUNE?**

**I DID. :) Percy's backkkkkkk. I like that blonde kid, sure, but nobody beats my Percy. And apparently (according to Wiki) he loses his Achilles' curse when he enters the Roman camp. I don't know if it's true or not, but that would totally be AWESOME. Mostly because, I don't like invincible Percy. I like vulnerable Percy. So Annabeth can kick his butt when he hurts himself.**

**I'm so flipping out. :D**

**If you can't tell. ;)**

**Review! :) Are you excited for the new book? I am! October 4th!(:**

**OH. P.S. I'm currently in the middle of writing this uber-long two shot that is a what if to Annabeth going dark side with Luke. It has plenty of dark themes. Don't worry. Check out my profile if you want to read it!(:**


	5. Forgotten

_"The past is never dead, it is not even past." _

_-William Faulkner_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Forgotten<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Percy crawled to his feet again and began running, limping his way through the forest. It was hard, with a sprained ankle, to keep moving forward, but he had no choice. His only thought was to <em>get out_. Adrenaline was rushing up and down his veins, masking all the other in__juries. He had to get out the field, into the cover of the woods. Safety._

_The grass, still wet from the early morning dew, was smacking his legs as Percy sprinted toward the tree line. It stung. _

_Freedom was calling. If he only got into the forest he'd be safe. Then he actually might have a chance at losing them. Whoever it was. He hadn't seen their face when he started running, not that he had wanted to, but the picture remained unknown. Quite frankly, Percy didn't want to see who it was. _

_Because he had this overwhelming sense that whoever was trying to kidnap him… he __knew__. _

_Karma really hated him. It seemed to enjoy jerking his chain. Just as soon as he thought the war was over and he only had to deal with were a couple of monsters now and then, things like this came about. _

_Did he ever catch a break? _

_Was helping to save all of Olympus not enough? _

_"Percy! Run, run, as fast at you can! You wouldn't want me to catch you!" _

_He really hated that voice, especially the taunting. It was so __familiar__. It was begging to be brought up from his memories, he just couldn't quite grab onto it. And then, maybe he didn't want to. Another betrayal would hurt; Percy had seen and felt too many of those during wartime, more afterwards would be worse. Because if they were after the battle, it meant whoever it was, wasn't mad at the gods, wasn't mad at the Titans, they were mad at Percy. _

_And that meant it was his fault. _

_Percy didn't want to be responsible for another person's pain again. He hated that. He hated hurting people. He didn't want to cause anguish. It wasn't how he was programmed. _

_"Percy, you really think you can run forever? Because I don't think you can! Then again, what do I know?" the voice laughed hysterically, words punctuated by steady breaths as he also ran through the grass, trying to locate Percy. "Run! Run! Run!" he screamed. "Run as fast at you can!"_

_Yeah, certified crazy. This guy was totally and completely off of his rocker._

_He was a couple fries short of a Happy Meal. _

_His cheese done slid off his cracker!_

_Okay, so Percy actually watched _The Green Mile_ and remembered most of it. Annabeth made him sit through it in the first place. And she was the one who fell asleep. _

_He could hear the guy's breathing. _

_He was getting closer. _

_Percy jerked into action and picked up his pace as much as he could. It was hard, his ankle was killing him. The trees were so close, a mere fifty yards, maybe a minute if he kept sprinting, kept moving, stayed ahead of whoever this was. He was running out of steam, literally. Percy was rasping for breath, there was a painful stitch in his side, and the limp in his gait was steadily growing._

_Twenty yards away. _

_The footsteps behind him were getting closer. _

_ Panic ran rampant through his system, and Percy wildly pushed harder. _

_He was so close. It was feet instead of yards now. _

_Percy started crashing through the trees. The vegetation was thick, but the sense of relief was thicker. He let out a huge breath and slowed down; he would have to be quiet to escape. Stealth was his biggest comrade. Percy started slipping through the branches, listening for noises. _

_A stick cracked to his left. He stiffened, freezing in time. As soon as he stopped, Percy felt the distinct ache in his ankle; he hadn't felt pain in a long time. The curse had slipped his mind since the war. So he couldn't break anything, but he could sprain a lot._

_Wow, Percy scoffed. Talk about an Achilles' Heel. _

_He didn't hear anything. No breathing, no footsteps, no nothing. _

_Maybe he'd lost them. Or him. Whoever it was. _

_So painfully familiar. _

_Percy started making his way through the trees again, as silently as he could. Despite the intense need to take deep breaths, he couldn't, those would be heard. He resorted to inhaling through his nose and suffering with the lack of air. _

_"I'm coming for you," the voice sang. Percy's head flew up so fast it was a wonder it didn't break. It was a guy. And it came from his left. It sounded close. _

_Painfully close. _

_Percy turned in a circle, muscles tensed. There was a rustling noise in front of him. _

_Suddenly a body tackled him from behind, sending them both to the floor. Percy groaned and spurred into action. The person wasn't that heavy. He braced his left arm against the ground and heaved to his side. Crawling forward, he gained leverage and stood up. Gasping for air, since the wind had been knocked out of him, he stooped over on his knees and searched his pockets for Riptide. _

_He didn't have any pockets. _

_Which was why he had started running in the first place. _

_That would prove a problem. _

_The moon didn't provide anywhere near enough light in order for Percy to see who was attacking him. What was bothersome was the fact that he was __human__. _

_They both simultaneously caught their breath and Percy waited in anxious anticipation. He couldn't run anymore. He'd have to fight, weapon or not. The odds were _so_ not in his favor; he'd never really trained for hand-to-hand combat. He had never really needed to. Normal people weren't supposed to attack demigods, monsters were._

_"Well, hi, there, Percy. Long time no see. I would say it's good to see you, but," his attacker cut off and raised his head, a sadistic smile decorating his face, "it's not." _

_"Michael?" Percy gasped. "But—the bridge. Y-you fell. I remember watching you fall! That was at least three hundred feet, no one could—." _

_Michael lifted his head; he was smirking. "Survive? Oh, I almost didn't. Don't worry, Percy." _

_"What you doing here? How'd you survive? Why are you trying to kill me?" Percy blurted out in quick succession. _

_He had no idea what was going on. Michael was dead. Percy had watched that bridge fall. _

_Percy had been the one that made it fall. _

_"One question at a time, old friend, please. After that bridge collapsed, the one_ you_ made collapse, I ended up on Calypso's island." Michael laughed and straightened his posture. "Now, she… was one hot bitch. A little bit too 'caring and sharing' for my taste, but nonetheless… damn! You went there, didn't you? After you blew up Mt. Saint Helens like a huge whitehead? She really liked you, Percy. And you left her." _

_Michael rolled his shoulders, and Percy could faintly see the outline of his features, pale and grim. _

_His voice dropped. "Of course, she fell in love with me soon after. You could tell she didn't want, too, though. Thought I was too _dark_, so to speak. But that poor girl, fell anyway, what a crappy curse." _

_Percy listened in a stunned silence. "Michael, what happened to you?" he questioned. _

_"What happened to me?" Michael repeated. He stepped closer. "_You_ happened to me, Percy. _You_ were the one who made that bridge collapse. _You_ were the one left me there all alone. And _you _were the one who_ killed _me. So don't ask what happened to me. You're the one responsible for it." _

_"Dude, I didn't mean… Michael I never tried to kill you, it just, happened. There was no other way—. I would've saved you if I could've, but I couldn't. Mike, you _have_ to know that." _

_"'I would've saved you'. That's cute, Percy, really. Percy Jackson, the hero, he's gotta save everyone. Everyone relies on Percy. Couldn't live without him. We'd all _die_ without him. With that stupid prophecy, and that stupid kid behind it." He stopped, catching his breath. "You know, I didn't understand why the gods didn't just kill you. It would've been so much easier than getting into that war. Shoulda killed Hades's kid while they were at it, and all their problems would've been solved. But _no_, we gotta be humane and shit." _

_He looked up. _

_"I would've killed you, Percy. I would've." _

_Percy felt his stomach sink to the ground. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. _

_He was going to have to fight his old friend. Did Apollo know anything about this?_

_Michael wanted to kill him. He was so angry, his hands were shaking. This was really bad. Percy could see the distinct glint of a knife in Michael's pocket. Percy wasn't armed. He wasn't prepared for this. He didn't __want __to do this. _

_"Michael, you don't have to do this. I'm sorry I made that bridge collapse. I'm sorry you got hurt and had to go to Calypso's. But, the war's over now. Kronos is back in the pit. And everything's back to pretty much back to normal at camp. Why don't you come back? They'd celebrate! Hell, I'd celebrate!" He paused. "I get that you're angry, I do." _

_Michael's face twisted in anger and he rushed forward, grabbing Percy's biceps. "You get it? You think you get it? You think you have any idea what I went though? What happened to me? You have no idea! You don't know _anything_! You have no _idea_ what it's like to be __dying__. I was buried underneath a pile of rocks, Percy. For _days_.__ With no food, no water, and no help. Oh, sure, you won the war. Luke gave you Annabeth's knife, blah blah blah, I know all about that. I haven't lived underneath a rock for the past few months." _

_Percy's heart pounded against his ribs. "Then why don't you come back?" _

_The hands on his arms tightened painfully and Michael shook him so hard his teeth clicked together. _

_"Oh my god, you're as dense as Annabeth used to say you were. I don't _want _to go back to camp, Percy." _

_He paused and Percy heard the trees rustle, as if they were trying to make the moment even more dramatic. _

_"I _want_ to kill you__." _

_At first, Percy was tempted to make some smart-ass comment, because he was good at those. They released tension. He soon realized there would be no releasing tension from his situation. Michael was pissed. And it went even deeper than that. He actually wanted to _kill_ someone. Percy. He wanted to kill Percy._

_And that made the situation sort of, kind of, maybe, really tense. _

_The guilt was one thing Percy couldn't control. He had never wanted to destroy that bridge. It had just happened. But he was in a war. There was no time to grieve, or look for Michael. It was either let one person go, or possibly thousands. _

_He didn't want Michael to die. _

_Percy didn't handle guilt well. Not at all. He hated it. He hated being responsible for others' pain. _

_He didn't want anyone to hurt, nobody, not once. He almost laughed; Percy was in the wrong profession. "Michael, you don't want to kill me. It's not going to fix anything. And am I really worth killing? Besides, if you really wanted to, you would've done it by now. I know that much." _

_Michael roughly released Percy's arms, pushing him to the ground. "Shut up! Shut up, Percy! You have no idea what I want!" he screamed. He seemed to gather himself, and stood over Percy. "But you're right. I don't want to kill you. Not yet, anyway. There are still some things I'd like to take care of. And your curse thing, that'll prove to be an issue. But I think I've got a solution for that, too." _

_Yeah, Percy thought, now would be a good time to start running. _

_Percy sprinted away from Michael like his life depended on it. _

_Bad pun. _

_He was running out of energy. His ankle wasn't up to all that commotion, and it as steadily getting worse to keep moving. _

_Keep away from Michael. _

_As long as Percy had something funny to say, some witty words to toss out, some bad euphemism that was stupid but he thought was hilarious, he could be okay. _

_There was nothing funny to say anymore. _

_Because Michael was pissed, Percy was unarmed, and Karma was laughing its ass off. _

_He saw light. He saw beautiful, bright, safe light. Percy was going to run into that house, and beg for just relief, claim he was running from a robber, something to get out of the woods. Then he was going to go back to his mom's apartment, grab Annabeth and watch crappy Netflix movies all day in bed, while pigging out on cheese popcorn and ice cream. _

_That was heaven. _

_Pure, sweet relief flooded through his system as he limped into the clearing. _

_He started yelling, "HEL—oof." Something Michael-sized slammed into his legs, and he was tackled to the ground. _

_Percy really started panicking then. "Let go!" he yelled, kicking his foot backwards and feeling his heel hit something soft. Michael's grip loosened and Percy crawled forward, scrabbling against the ground. He wasted a precious second to look behind and saw Michael clutching his nose, blood leaking through his fingers. Percy took it as an opportunity and scrambled towards the house. _

_"Oh, no you're not!" Michael shouted, his voice thick. Percy started crawling faster, his hands scanning the ground for anything useful as a weapon. _

_Two hands wrapped around Percy's feet and pulled backwards. Percy landed with a shocked grunt on his stomach and started kicking again. Michael anticipated the move and twisted._

_Percy's ankle broke with a loud crack. _

_Absolute fire pulsated up his leg and Percy screamed. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes. His first reaction was to hold his ankle, but survival came first. Percy turned and pushed his other foot into the dirt, desperately clawing at the ground to pull himself away. _

_Michael dropped his foot and leapt forward, digging his knee into Percy's back and holding him still. _

_"Where'd you think you were going?" Michael snarled. He slammed Percy's chest against the ground when he tried to wiggle free. Percy groaned and twisted again, struggling to breathe and fight at the same time. _

_"Why are you doing this?" he groaned, spitting out dirt. Pain was reverberating up and down his left leg, throbbing with a frightening intensity in his ankle. But what was really scaring him was the fact that his ankle broke at all. Wasn't he invincible? _

_"What most people don't know," Michael said, "is that if you press just the right spot where the soul is anchored to the holder of the curse, you can… default it, if you will." Percy's heart started pounding against his chest. He heard it in his ears. "So if I press…" panic surged through Percy's veins as Michael's hand drifted towards the small of his back. "So if I press right here—." _

_Percy screamed louder than when he was set on fire, louder than when his ankle broke, and louder than when he first jumped into the River Styx. _

_All rational thought disappeared, and the only thing that existed in his mind, was pure and utter agony. _

_His vision was incredibly blurred, but he looked up and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer. _

_The lights on the house were automatic. _

_No one was home._

* * *

><p><em>"You want to know happened to me after that bridge collapsed?" Michael stood up, rummaging through the drawers of a metal dresser that was in the corner of the room. Percy remained quiet, trying to control the pulses of pain that raced up and down his spine. "I think you do, then again, I'm not giving you much of a choice."<em>

_Percy felt his presence come closer as Michael sat down on the floor next to him. "It was confusing… at first. I didn't know what was going on. I mean, I remembered you stabbing the cement, and I remembered a lot of water." He stopped and glared down at Percy. "I know you're awake, you dumbass. Quit faking it." Percy snapped his eyes open and groaned, even his eyelids hurt. _

_"Such pretty eyes you have, Perce," Michael smiled as he patted Percy's shoulder. "You would _not_ believe how much Annabeth liked that about you. She never _said _it of course, but one time we were at the archery range and you walked by and she completely bombed the shot. She stomped away muttering something about green and seaweed. A guy can only assume, you know? She was pretty hot, gotta give you credit there." _

_Percy coughed dryly and lifted his hand; he wasn't chained to anything. He wasn't even restrained. It wasn't like he was going to go anywhere on a broken ankle, but still. And if listening to a nutjob fantasize about his girlfriend was going to be his afternoon delight, he'd find a way skip town. Okay, walk. All right, limp. Fine, crawl. _

_"I'm getting off topic, aren't I?" Michael asked. Percy assumed it was a rhetorical question. "Anyways, the bridge. I remember telling you to do it, you know. I didn't forget that. Of course, I had no idea what I was getting into back then. The bridge collapsed, and I fell. And I kept falling, and falling, and falling. It felt like there was no end. I thought maybe I'd died or something. I welcomed it, you know? I thought it was a heroe's death, dying like that. And then I hit the water. Do you know what it's like hitting water when you've fallen from at least a hundred feet? _

_It's like hitting a brick wall. I was supposed to become paint splatter so someone would have to peel me off the sidewalk, but I didn't. I have no idea how I survived. Maybe it was Apollo or something, elf-centered bastard that he was. But you know where I landed, Percy?" _

_Michael was holding something silver in his hands. It looked like a torture device. Percy stiffened, odds are it was. Michael wasn't Michael anymore. He was different. Something had happened. Somewhere he went wrong. _

_Percy felt his hand get picked up and struggled to pull it away. What was he doing? Michael kept talking. "I bounced off several different rocks like a pinball." He positioned the metal thing on top of Percy's nail. _

_"W-what are you doing?" Percy stammered. _

_Michael raised his head. "Oh, this old thing? It's just to help you out with the examples. Patience, Percy, patience._

_"Anyways, back to me." Michael's voice darkened considerably. His breaths started coming faster. "After scraping half of the skin on my face off, I stopped on a piece of the bridge. Then these bricks starting falling. They kept falling. All of them, on top of me. I got crushed. It felt like every bone in my body was getting broken one by one. Most of them actually were. I felt them all break. It was like snapping at twig in half." He stopped. His voice was shaking. "I still tried to dig myself out. For hours, I tried, Percy. I ripped all ten of my fingernails right off. And that's why I have this. I'm going to give you an example, Percy. I'm being quite nice, if you think about it." _

_Percy started panicking. He jerked his fingers in an attempt to avoid the inevitable. If only he didn't __ache __so much. The small of his back was throbbing and it completely incapacitated him. He didn't have any idea what was going on with the curse. _

_He was so confused. _

_And in pain. _

_Michael straightened Percy's forefinger. "All of them, Percy! All of them! They all ripped off!" he was screaming now. _

_The device clamped over his nail._

_Michael started pulling. _

_Percy lurched up from the floor, screaming and desperately trying to jerk his hand away. "Stop it! Stop! Michael, stop! _Please_, stop!" He could feel the tender fibers ripping from his skin, one by one. Tearing slowly. He squirmed recklessly and pulled at his finger. Michael's grip was iron. _

_There was no getting away from this one. Michael ripped his fingernail off with one swift yank. Pain exploded up his hand and Percy collapsed against the ground, breathing roughly and holding back tears. His finger was aching. The cool air was painfully sensitive against the exposed nerves underneath his skin. _

_Michael started on the next one. _

_He pulled every one of Percy's fingernails off._

_"I'm sorry, please, I'm sorry," Percy half-sobbed, weakly pushing his knuckles past Michael's knees in an attempt to get him to halt. "I'm sorry, __please__, Michael. Just stop, please. I'm sorry! Just stop!" He sounded incredibly close to sobbing. _

_Michael stood up and threw the metal claw against the wall, chest heaving. _

_"You know what you got after that war, Percy?" he yelled. _

_Percy wiggled helplessly on the ground, straining to find some sort of escape from the pain. _

_"Celebrated, Percy. You were celebrated!" Michael screamed. _

_There was a short pause.  
><em>

_"You know what I got after the war?" he questioned angrily._

_Percy didn't answer._

_"Forgotten."_

* * *

><p><strong>Boom! End of chapter. I felt really sadistic writing it... And really bad. Percy is hurted :( <strong>

**Anyways, did you like the chapter, regardless? **

**"His cheese done slid off his cracker." **

**THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME! I'll say it in a conversation and laugh my ass off at myself. :D Most people have no idea what movie it comes from... which is terribly sad. **

**So, 41 more days until the Son of Neptune comes out! *Fangirl sqeal* :)**

**ANYWAYS. Did you like this chapter? Your opinions really do matter! They affect where I go with the story. Of course, I do have MY basic outline, but whatever inspires my muse. :)**

**Thanks so much for all of the reviews :) I love you! :D**


	6. Sympathy for the Devil

**_Credits go to the Rolling Stones for the title._**

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><p><em>"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding." <em>

_-Khalil Gibran_

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><p><strong>Chapter Six: Sympathy For the Devil<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Percy hurt. Every bone in his body ached. It was strange, because the only thing that should really be in pain was his ankle, but everything still hurt.<em>

_He was pretty sure it was because of his curse being broken. His lower back was absolutely on _fire_. Percy wouldn't have been surprised if there was a giant blister along the entire length of his spine. It reached its climax at the small of his back; he could practically feel the tendons and ligaments get torn apart one by one. The curse burned hot. It made everything inside him brittle. Percy kept seeing an extremely vivid picture of his vertebrae drying up and collapsing into dust. It wasn't comforting._

_What he didn't get was why he didn't die. And how had Michael known where his anchor was? The only people who knew were Annabeth and Grover, and Grover only found out by sheer coincidence. Percy was positive that neither of them would tell. There was no way. _

_He had been lying on the godforsaken ground for at least two days. And it wasn't even dirt; it was cement, which was entirely unforgiving on his brutally bruised back. The throbbing in his ankle hadn't ceased, but he had grown used to it. There were things that hurt more. Mostly things that couldn't be seen._

_Michael must have chained him while he was asleep, because he was on the opposite side of the room. It was kind of scary that he slept through that. He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for. There was light coming out of the window. There was now a heavy metal handcuff around his left wrist. He had to roll his eyes at that one. How positively medieval._

_And cliché. One would think that they could at least be a little bit more creative. Then again—Michael probably wasn't doing this for theatrical flair. _

_He was __just __angry. _

_And Percy—he was guilty. He was undeniably, horribly, and painfully guilty. Hearing Michael tell him that story was like getting stabbed in the chest a thousand times over again. He could tell it was the truth. Michael was down there for _hours_, dying alone. He couldn't imagine what that felt like. He didn't want to. Percy was sorry. He was truthfully sorry down to the bottom of his soul. _

_The regret was inescapable. He _hated _himself for what he did, but there was no going back. He couldn't change it. He couldn't fix it. And he couldn't have saved Michael even if he had tried._

_Knowing that didn't stop the guilt. It only seemed to make it stronger. _

_Michael didn't deserve to have gone through that. And Percy understood—to a point—why he was doing this. Revenge looked beautiful from a distance, and then once reached, you realize how ugly it really is. _

_Revenge didn't fix anything. The past was unchangeable. _

_There were footsteps echoing outside of his door. Percy wiggled against the wall, struggling to sit upright. Once vertical, he relaxed and groaned. His back was killing him. _

_The room was actually quite big, not that Percy could've utilized it. But it was pretty clean for a prisoner's cage. He was caged like a wild animal; that did wonders for the self-esteem. _

_His fingernails were still awfully sensitive. They smarted every time a slight breeze managed to weasel through the high window. Looking at them made Percy nauseated. They had stopped bleeding, and were now a pinkish bruise, the nail completely gone. Michael meant business. Painful business. He wasn't messing around._

_Which officially ruled out that Percy was on an extreme episode of _Punk'd_._

_A creaking noise alerted Percy to the opening of the door. Michael stepped through it, and then turned and locked it with an alarming finality. _

"_Well, hiya, Percy. What's happening?" he asked conversationally. _

_He had to have been completely insane. _

"_Oh, you know_, _just sitting here, chained to a wall, nothing much." Percy retorted._

_Michael crouched in front of Percy and patted his broken ankle in a sadistic version of comfort. "Come on, now, Percy, it's not too bad, is it?" _

_Percy rolled his eyes. "Oh, it's got a very 'torturous' sort of flair to it." _

_Michael twisted his face into a twisted version of a smile. "Way to see the bright side, champ." _

_"What are you planning on doing to me?" Percy asked, tugging the chains with frustration marring his face. _

_Michael laughed and stood up, walking over and leaning on a table that was on the opposite side of the room. "I'm not alone, you know. There are other… people, that wanted you captured, too. I was just the one stuck with the dirty work. Not that I didn't enjoy it or anything, I did, don't worry. But, Percy, I think you're forgetting. A war never truly ends. Not until every single living person who remembers it is dead." _

_That wasn't ominous at all. _

_"So you're working with someone else on this? Who is it? What do they want?" he blurted in quick succession. He wanted to tack on _Why me?_ to that sentence, but he could wait. It wasn't the right time for dramatic pleads yet._

_"They want information. I want you dead. It's a fair deal." _

_Percy scoffed and frowned, "If it's so fair, where do I benefit?" _

_Michael huffed in laughter and turned around, fiddling with something that he couldn't see. "Your pathetic existence ceases to matter. You'll become fertilizer in no time. Although, we do still need you, for a while at least." _

_"Can you tell me who's 'we'?" Percy asked. _

_Michael twisted his neck to look at Percy and then gave him an appraising look. "You'll find out. Don't worry. I don't think you know them anyway. It's a small band of rebels. They want to know why Kronos lost. I tried to tell them, but apparently they don't believe me." He stopped talking, his elbows moved while he worked on something. "I don't care anyway. All I want is the money, and the revenge. That's it."_

_Percy's stomach fled the building and he dropped his head against the hard wall behind him. "You really want to kill me, don't you?" _

_Michael stopped working, his shoulders tensed. He turned around._

_"When haven't I made that clear?" he argued. "Do you not feel any guilt at __all__? Do you realize what you did to me? You destroyed me! You and your single-minded crusade to 'save the world' killed me! You have no idea what it's like to spend hours thinking you're going to die!"_

_Percy said, "You're absolutely right. I don't. But how is killing me going to help you?" _

_"Closure." _

_"Murder is closure?" _

_Michael's face twisted in what looked like pain. Maybe it was indecision. _

_Maybe he was rethinking this. If he was, Percy might have a chance. But it was the other people involved he had to worry about. What did they want to do? What did they want to __know__? If they wanted information, there were smarter people to kidnap than him. He wasn't even the hero in the whole mess. Luke was, maybe misguided, but he ended up saving the world. Kronos would've found some other vessel, someone weaker, and then they would've really had an issue. But Luke was the downfall and the uprising. _

_He was guaranteed peace. Percy wasn't so sure about his own. _

_Percy gave out forgiveness all the time. He realized it probably wasn't a good thing. But he couldn't help it. People deserved second chances. Everyone deserved a second chance. _

_"Stop looking at me like that." Michael snapped. _

_Percy tilted his head, cracking his sore neck. "Like what?" _

_"Like I'm some sort of mislead child. I'm not." _

_"I wasn't thinking that. I was thinking that __you should let me go__." _

_Michael through his head back and laughed, "Percy, Percy, Percy. Quit getting your hopes up. You're not getting free. No one's going to rescue you either. You're stuck here." He started walking towards the door. "Oh, by the way, I'm about to send in the other guys, so… brace yourself." _

_Wow. Original. Whether Michael had tried to echo his father's words or not, it was creepy. And weird._

_And slightly terrifying._

* * *

><p><em>"Percy Jackson. I've waited quite a long time to meet you."<em>

_Percy rolled his eyes and tugged on the chains again. It was becoming a habit. Maybe if he just kept pulling they would fall apart. It was totally possible. There was a clicking noise, and the sound of a clunky something hitting the floor. Percy opened his eyes and stared blankly at the rather large metal box and the guy crouching next to it. He looked to be in his late teens, short and broad, but in shape. It was hard to see with the minimal lighting. _

_"What, are you mute, now?" he quipped, flicking the lid open. Percy couldn't see what was inside, only a blinking red light was visible. _

_"What do you want?" Percy asked. His voice was husky for some reason. Probably yelling too much. _

_The guy pulled a few things out of the box. He could clearly see a long black rod shaped like a pencil. It didn't look friendly. _

_"I want information from you, Percy." _

_He crossed his legs and seemed to get comfortable, which meant he wasn't planning on leaving, which meant Percy was screwed. Panic started making his heart pump faster. _

_Percy cleared his throat. "About what?" he asked. _

_The guy laughed; it sounded sinister. "My name is Matt, thanks for asking. And about the war, naturally. And I think you should have my answers. It's unfortunate that that silly curse of yours had to get in the way. I do think Michael solved it, did he not?" _

_Percy shifted tensely and refused to answer. Leaning down, Matt took his hand and dug his nail into the still-tender flesh where Percy's fingernail used to be. A strangled scream flew from his throat and Percy lurched up from the ground, scrambling away from Matt. _

_Matt chuckled and picked up the black rod. "Well, I can see you feel pain now. That should make my job a little easier." _

_Struggling to get his breathing under control, Percy's chest heaved and he watched Matt flick a switch. The black rod started buzzing. The pain started easing from his finger. That looked a lot like… electricity? _

_Oh no. No, no, no, no, no. _

_He wasn't going to… _

_"Did you know, that it's not the volts of electricity that kills you? On the contrary, the average human being is exposed to thousands of volts every day, simply from static. It's the __amps__ that matter. While a human can quite efficiently handle tens of thousands of volts, a few amps can kill you instantly. But the problem with electricity, is that it is so unreliable. Really, it all depends on what pathways the current takes, and which organs it hits. That determines whether you will die or not."_

_He shrugged. "But, that's not what I'm looking for, not yet, at least. Pain is the goal right now. And on that note…" _

_Percy's teeth crunched together in bone-jarring intensity as the shock hit his side. He completely lost all track of time. The agony pulsed up and down his spine as Matt jammed the rod into his back again. He wondered who was screaming until Percy realized that the screams were his own. Every single muscle tensed and vibrated in an involuntary pattern. _

_"S-s-s-stop! P-please!" Percy begged, vaguely surprised that the words slipped out from his clicking teeth. The electricity fell away and Percy was left with an astonishing amount of pressure on his chest. He could barely breathe. It was like sucking air through a stir straw. _

_Then he was coughing, and wheezing, and twitching, and _God _everything __hurt__. His spine was on fire and every single one of his muscles was locked tightly in painful spasms. Gasping for air, he curled on his side and shook. A hand grabbed his shoulder and roughly flipped him to lie on his sensitive back. _

_"You could've asked the question first," he whined, voice shaking with the effort of talking. His mouth tasted metallic. Percy rolled over and spit what he could confidently identify as blood onto the floor. He had bitten a hole into his tongue. _

_"And you wouldn't have taken me seriously, Percy. I'm trying to quicken the process. Now, you understand the consequences if you don't answer my question." _

_Percy rolled his eyes and glared into the shadows. "Don't sound so fucking reasonable." He spat. _

_Matt laughed, surprised, and patted Percy's shoulder. "I didn't know you had such a dirty mouth, Percy. Now, onto my question: How do I get Kronos out of the pit?" _

_"How the hell would I know tha—." _

_The rod slammed into Percy's ankle and this time he didn't even try and stop himself from screaming. He was dying. He had to be. Nothing hurt this __bad__. His back arched against the ground and Percy struggled to crawl away from it, but the electricity followed. "Stop, stop, stop! Please, god, just stop!" _

_"I can't stop until you tell me how to get Kronos out of the pit." _

_Pain shot up Percy's leg and he felt the broken bone in his ankle shudder and groan, scraping angrily against his skin. He was hazing a seizure. There was no way he could shake like this and not. _

_It hurt so much. _

_A strange gray tinge was starting to envelope Percy's vision. His ears were ringing and Matt's voice was muffled. It sounded like he was talking underwater. The world was spinning around in circles. The world was raging in a fever-hot fire, flickering in and out. The only thing Percy could fully understand was the heat. He had never been hotter in his life. The fire was going to burn him. The fire was going to eat him alive. _

_It got too hot and then Percy was gone in a rush of flames. The last thing he remembered was the distinct smell of something burning._

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><p><em>"Stop! Stop! Stop, stop, stop! I don't know anything! Please! Just stop it! I don't know! I'm begging you, stop! Please!"<em>

_Percy screamed and more tears ran down his cheeks. Matt picked up the rod and shook his head. "I can't until you tell me what I need to know." _

_Percy swallowed back the sobs that were aching to be released and stuttered, "I don't know how to get Kronos out of Tartarus. I don't! Stop, please!"_

_"Percy. I know you know. Quit acting like you don't." _

_Matt stood up and walked out of the door. "I'll be right back. Don't get too comfortable." _

_Percy sniffed and dropped his head against the floor. He wouldn't cry. That meant they were winning. Percy wouldn't break, not that easily. He could survive this. All he needed to do was to find a way to escape. To get out of here. He could do it. He had to be able to do it. He couldn't last here. The pain was too great. _

_The door opened with a hard slam against the wall, and Michael was shoved into the room. "What are you putting me in here for?" he argued, glaring at Matt. The man shoved Michael onto the floor on the opposite side of the room. _

_"You said you wanted to see him hurt. So I'm letting you see it." _

_"I wanted it on my terms!" _

_Matt rolled his eyes and crouched next to Percy again. "Shut up, you brat. If you really wanted revenge, this should serve you just fine. Now watch and enjoy." _

_Percy groaned and muttered, "Welcome to the party, Mike. Long time, no see." _

_"You have __such__ an _annoying_ attitude, Percy." _

_Matt started again. _

_He didn't know how long he'd been getting electrocuted. But Percy knew it had been a long time. He couldn't quite remember when he'd started crying. _

_"Stop, please." He sobbed, "Just stop. I don't know anything, please." _

_He was sobbing now. Heartbreaking, aching, sobs. It was pathetic. He was begging for his life. _

_"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I don't anything! Please, let me go! Stop it! I'm sorry." _

_He was crying so hard he was wheezing. _

_Matt swore, and stood up. "Why won't you tell me anything? I need to know!" he roared. Percy heard him pick up all of his equipment, and then grab Michael by the shirt collar. _

_Michael's face was bleached a suspicious white. _

_Percy couldn't help but notice his fingers were shaking._

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><p><strong>Completely edited. So if you're checking back in, I hope it's easier to read! I was headed to watch a baseball game with my dad and didn't want to finish the chapter that late, so I shoved it out unedited and crappy. :P <strong>

**I hope you'll forgive me! **

**Anyways, I'm struggling with the next chapters, and I struggled with this one. It's hard to write such a traumatizing experience and make it feel like you guys can connect, and understand what Percy went through and make sure his reaction after we're done with all of the in-the-past scenes is valid. The bulk of the story really lies after I'm done with all of this. **

**I'm not altogether completely satisfied with this chapter, at times I feel like it was quite rushed, but this was how I published it, so I guess that how it's going to stay!**

**Thanks for reviewing and reading!**

**Tell me your thoughts!**


	7. Fire

**Not much I can say, really. I had the worst case of writer's block ever. I know you guys really wanted a chapter, and definitely deserved one, but I wasn't about to post something I didn't think was my best work and wasn't where the story was meant to go. **

**I've had more than a couple **_**aggravated **_**messages from people, and I truly apologize. **

**Apparently people were getting "impacient" about the four "mounths" wait. **

**Sorry, username I-don't-even-remember, but you definitely made me laugh, and your PM got me rollin'. **

**Ahhh, illiteracy ^_^ **

**Anyways, I'm going to attempt to justify my absence. A) My free time has disappeared down a massive black hole. B) The holidays suck. C) Between juggling practice and games and getting to my boyfriend's basketball games, my creativity turned into lay-ups, dribbles and trying to get the poor stud to dunk. **

**Oh, there'll be more about the story after the chapter. I need to crush your hopes and dreams first.**

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><p>"<em>Oh for shame, how the mortals put the blame on us gods, for they say evils come from us, but it is they, rather, who by their own recklessness win sorrow beyond what is given…"<em>

_-Zeus from "The Odyssey" by Homer_

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><p>"You killed me, Percy. You killed me. That makes this okay. It's okay. Because <em>you <em>killed me. You have this coming. It's your fault."

Michael flew up from his crouched position on the floor, hands fisting his hair. "Damnit, this is your fault! It's not mine!" His eyes were wide, face red.

Percy lay motionless at his feet. His nose was broken, the result of another useless session with Matt. His head throbbed in time with Michael's shouts. One eye was completely swollen shut, the other blinking at the ceiling. He had no idea how long he'd been there. Time had slipped through his fingers as easily as Michael lost control and started ranting to the air, to the walls, to nothing.

Every bone in Percy's body ached. He was trapped in this cage and there was no way out, and he hadn't seen the sun in days. He wanted natural light, something other than the harsh florescent light the naked bulb hanging above his head stabbed him in the eyes with.

The door slammed open, heavy footsteps plodding into the room. It was Matt, it was always Matt.

"You are an insufferable idiot! If you're going to be in here, why don't you make yourself useful and try and pulling something from him?" Matt shouted, his deep and throaty voice thrumming loudly in Percy's ears. Heaving shoulders bent his way, and Matt's face swung into his solitary field of vision. He smiled. "How's the guinea pig feeling today?"

Blood trickled down the back of Percy's throat.

Matt's dirty fingernails appeared above Percy for a moment before they dived down like an eagle attacking its prey, latching around his nose and wrenching it back and forth. Bone grated against bone and nerves reared up in protest. Percy lurched up from the ground, swatting at Matt's hand and squirming in agony.

"Stop, stop, stop!" he cried out.

He didn't blame Michael. He didn't. He couldn't. That'd be wrong. This was Matt.

The pain didn't stay isolated and spread throughout his body, igniting every hurt he felt. Percy wiggled helplessly, struggling to run away from it. Like he could get anywhere. The pressure was released and before he had time to fully appreciate the relief of pain, a foot drove into his side, stealing his breath away. Wheezing, gasping for air, Percy curled onto his side and slammed his head against the floor repeatedly.

Why wouldn't it stop? It had to stop. Someone had to come for him. Someone. Anyone. Someone to stop the pointless torture and to help Michael.

Percy wanted it to end.

Michael sprinted out the doorway.

Percy rolled his one eye. The guy didn't even have the courtesy to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>"Michael, please. You <em>have <em>to stop it. Please, just make it stop. I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. Just make it stop. I didn't _mean_ to-. Ow, ow, fuck, stop it!"

Matt's hand wrapped around Percy's broken ankle and twisted again.

"Michael! I'm begging you, I'm begging you," Percy sobbed, "tell him to stop. Make him stop it." His breath caught in his throat. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! Michael, _please_."

The pain rushed through his spine and his shook violently, jerking out of the grasp of Matt. The man swore angrily and grabbed Percy around the knees, pulling him backwards. Percy reacted on impulse and kicked, catching Matt in the eye. Falling backwards, Matt slapped a hand over his face and roared, "God damnit! Michael, get the fucking cattle prod!"

Percy lay shivering against the ground, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, watching Michael.

Michael stared dumbly for a moment at Percy, before Matt yelled again, "_Now_, you fucking idiot! Now! I'm done with this!" Michael jumped and ran out the doorway.

Apparently recovered from the foot to the face, Matt leaned over Percy and spit on his cheek. "This could all be over if you just told me how to resurrect Kronos. It could all be over. I'd let you go. But you _won't_, so this continues! And it'll continue until you tell me! Until you die, Percy! Until you _die_. I'll keep you alive. You'll waste away in here. No one will ever find you. No one. That precious girlfriend of yours will fuck someone else and get married. Your friends will move on. Your insufferable father will forget his rat of a son. They'll all forget you and you'll be _alone_."

"Alone, Percy! Alone!" Matt shouted. His fist rocketed Percy's face to the side.

More than dazed, Percy closed his one eye and let it come. Matt's boots stained his side, his legs, his head. A rib cracked. An ear popped. Warm blood trickled through his fingers. Lips split. Skin tore. Welts rose.

Percy was seconds away from unconsciousness when Matt and Michael started arguing. Michael quiet and resistant, Matt angry and forceful.

Matt won, he always won.

Knobby knees crouched next to Percy. Shaking hands held the rod, the end glowed a brilliant red. Percy knew what was coming; God, he knew.

His eyes were wet as he looked up at Michael. They leaked down his face. Blood matted his hair to his forehead and cheek.

"Michael, don't," he whispered, begged. "Don't do it."

Michael swallowed, blanching at the sight of Percy's wounds. They were everywhere. He was leaking blood like a fucking faucet.

"You can't do it, Michael," Percy whined. "You can't. I didn't mean to hurt you and you know it."

Matt stepped on his broken ankle, and Percy stopped talking, a silent scream echoing over his features.

Michael closed his eyes and wielded the rod.

"You don't understand, Percy. I have to."

Percy's skin melted like hot butter, and he passed out with a voiceless glance at Michael. The hopeless despair was so tangible, and Michael could smell the distinct stench of burning flesh in the air; he crawled like a wounded animal to the corner and threw up everything he'd eaten that day.

* * *

><p>"I hate you."<p>

Michael inhaled harshly through his nose, closing his eyes and shutting off his sight.

"You deserve this. You tried to kill me, and you deserve this. I lost everyone because of you. Everyone. You deserve this."

Percy couldn't breathe right and his tears burned hot and they kept leaking and his chest kept heaving and Michael just _sat there_ and _fuck_, he was losing it. His hands were shaking and he was curled into the smallest ball possible and it wasn't helping anything and _why _did everything have to hurt so badly?

"You killed me, damnit, you hurt me!"

Percy tried to breathe slowly, control the pain, but a sharp stab in his lungs had him gasping for air, whimpering in agony.

Michael was losing it, too.

"It's _all your fault_!" Michael screamed, rocking on his knees.

Percy coughed weakly, adrenaline pulsing through his veins when he a felt a sticky wetness cover his lips. This wasn't good. None of this was good.

Michael yelled from where he was kneeling by Percy's side, slamming his fist into Percy's thigh.

"No," Percy croaked, angry. "It's yours." An empty sob escaped. He hated it. "It's your fault. You did this to yourself. You should've let it go. I hate you. You're going to hell, I swear. The Underworld, whatever the fuck you want to call it." He halted, running out of air and composure. He inhaled raggedly and the tears keep sliding and sliding and he keeps crying and crying. "You're gonna go to _hell_," he sobbed. "And they're going to punish you, because this is _wrong_ and you _know _it. They're going to stick you in the Fields of Punishment and you're going to burn forever. They're going to do the same shit you've done to me, I swear. This is _wrong _and—_fuck!_" he stopped cryingyellingscreamingbegging to grab his ankle, the broken one. "I hope you die," he rasped. "And I hope it hurts. I hate you. This isn't revenge, this is evil. You're evil." Tears kept rolling down his bloodstained cheeks. His chest was heaving with sobs. "You're doing the same thing you think I did to you to me.

"I didn't kill you that day, Michael." Percy shook. "You died the day you captured me."

The pain in his spine and his ankle and the burns and his nose and his bruises and his head all rolled up and hit him at the same time. Percy groaned, completely empty, completely gone, and curled on his side away from Michael.

"You won," Percy whispered, voice breaking, hugging his arms to his chest.

Michael got up and stumbled out the doorway.

* * *

><p>Percy started to lose track of things after that day. Or maybe it was at night. How was he supposed to know? Everything began to slide into a dark mess of pain. He wasn't aware enough to respond to Matt's questions, his tactless torture plans.<p>

Percy was waiting for the day Matt snapped and finally killed him. That's what he wanted. Percy wanted to die more than anything. And that was strange, considering he'd spent a good five years of his life struggling to stay alive.

The most he could do was look at Michael. He watched him. He watched Michael disappear right in front of him. He watched the madness in his eyes. He watched him lose weight, turn grey. Revenge could do that to you. One time Michael gave him water. He didn't say a word, just jammed it against his lips and let him drink.

Matt found out and dislocated Michael's thumb.

Percy was floating in a haze of fiery pain when a hand shook his shoulder. Michael's face floated above him.

"It's a drug. It'll make you sleep. For a long time."

The syringe drifted from Percy's blurred viewpoint and the needlepoint slid into his arm.

"It won't hurt so bad."

Percy blinked sluggishly. "Yeah?" he croaked, voice empty.

Michael shook his head. "Yeah."

"I'd rather die," he slurred, stumbling, pushing through the truth.

Everything went black.

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><p><em>Percy was burning. He was on fire. It was hot. Everywhere. Everybody was burning. His brain was sizzling and melting into a useless puddle. Fire raced up and down his smoking spine. There was no escaping the heat. Flames licked his eyes, dried out his mouth, cracked his ears. He wanted out. He wanted cold. He wished for water and acid rain burned holes in the sky, in his skin. Why was it so hot? Someone set him on fire. Lit a match and ignited his world.<em>

_He lay on the ground in a twitching ball, hands shook his shoulders, touched his head, felt his skin. Worried, angry, pained voices hovered above him. There was nothing they could do. Maybe they could do something and weren't. Maybe they were letting him suffer. _

"_He's…burning up…why can't he wa—…your fault…"_

_A panicked female voice washed out the others. _

"_Nothing…can do…carry him…get….the ground…" _

_Hands rolled him onto his back, spoke into his ear. Arms gathered him from the floor, pulling limp muscles off the ground. _

"_Percy…love…everything…okay." _

* * *

><p>"Are we going to kill him?"<p>

"What? No! He hasn't given us anything yet!"

"Well, he's not now. He's been unconscious for days. That shit you gave him did its job. Why don't we just kill him? That's what I wanted. That's what I came to you for. End it now. He's worthless."

Arms shoving, back hitting concrete wall, head thudding, breath scraping against tight throat. Lying mouth.

"You starting to regret this, Mike? After that son of a bitch almost _killed _you? You want to put him out of his misery?"

Incredulous snort. Disbelief. Scorn.

"I-I just want to be done. Move on. Percy Jackson doesn't mean shit to anyone. We kill him, that whole fucking camp goes in mourning, and I have my revenge. "

Angry voice rising in volume.

"I'm not done with him yet!"

Deep breath. Gathering air, courage.

"He _doesn't know anything_! Matt, don't you get it, he doesn't know anything! Jesus Christ, I ripped off all his fingers nails, you broke his nose, snapped his ankle, burned holes into his side, and he _didn't say a word_. The bastard wants to die! Either he's insane and doesn't have a shed of self-preservation, or he just doesn't know a fucking thing!"

Smoldering eyes. Tension sitting in the air. Tangible indecision.

"Fine. You want him dead? Kill him. Dispose of the body. You kill him, Michael. All by yourself. You don't kill him, fine by me. I keep him."

Hesitation. Trepidation. Fear.

"What do I do it with?"

Empty laugh.

"I don't have a gun. Use your hands." Long pause. "You don't have enough balls to do this, Mike. You can't do it."

Even bigger laugh.

"Percy Jackson isn't going to die, because you can't do it."

Silence.

"You're a coward."

* * *

><p>"<em>It's been two days, Apollo. He hasn't even opened his eyes!"<em>

_Stillness. Warmth. Empty. Alone. Voices. _

_People. _

_Dripping water. Cold on his forehead. Arms under sheets. Head on pillows. Hair poking his eyelids. Someone brushing it away. Fingertips on his cheek, on his skin. _

_Falling falling falling. _

_It's black. _

"_Percy….okay…we're…-aiting." _

_Damaged. Not wanted. No one came. Why are people still around? They don't want him. No one wanted him at all. No one._

* * *

><p><strong><em><em>I changed up the format for this chapter, sorta. Shorter than I normally write. But the next will be longer. It was choppy to reflect the fragmented frame of mind Percy's in. He's going through flashbacks of sorts; he's not going to be one after the other organized. **

**WELL. Been a while, boys and girls. Probably mostly girls. But if you're a guy and reading, you get yourself a cookie. I have a week off, so that means I'm going to be writing the whole time, mostly on this. I don't want to do the same thing to you guys again. I can't really say it's hard to find time, because there's enough time, I just couldn't write. At all. **

**I do hope you forgive me. :) And I won't do this again. This ball is just gettin' a rollin'. **

**WOW. I gotta say thanks for the reviews. With all the author alerts and story alerts and reviews about updating, I hope I get a bajillion of them. It's kinda depressing when you update after awhile and no one cares ;( Alas, beggars can't be choosers. **

**Thanks for reading. And check back in a couple days :)**


	8. Laugh, I Nearly Died

_Chapter title credit to The Rolling Stones. Honestly, you'll want to listen to this song during the scene. Not kidding._

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><p><strong>Uhhh, it's been over a month… Hehehe, *dodges tomatoes and broken laptops* and I have nothing to say for myself. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it…<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy."<em>

_- Aristotle_

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight: A Heart-Shaped Box<strong>

* * *

><p>Percy could sense something was different. His senses were lackluster now, dulled by the drugs running through his blood, but he could tell the changes in the way Michael spoke, the way he moved around him. Percy wasn't ever truly conscious, not anymore. He floated in an agonizing haze, snatches of angry voices piercing his eardrums, rough fingers checking his pulse, water being forced down his throat. They didn't get it at all. He didn't want water. He wanted out.<p>

But there was a small part of him, so small, so irritatingly resistant to his descent to hopelessness, that still searched for an escape, and that bothered Percy. He wanted to burn it all still left inside him, destroy every last bit of feeling he had left. If they wanted to beat a dead horse, they could. Percy Jackson was gone.

Michael. His ears still pricked when he walked in the room. Something was off. _Michael _was off. He could always tell the difference between Michael and Matt. They had entirely separate strides. Matt had heavy footsteps, thudding on the cement floor like he was announcing his presence. Michael was timid, skittish, not walking, but almost running in the room.

"Percy? Are you awake?"

Hands shook his bruised shoulders, and then Michael's finger pulled on his eyelid and Percy weakly pulled away. Coaxed into awareness, Percy blinked heavily and met Michael's frozen gaze.

"Percy?"

Who the fuck did he think it was?

"Percy, you have to… you have to know that I'm sorry. You have to know. I'm sorry." Michael's eyes were filling with unshed tears. "You were right, and I never should have taken you, and I was so stupid and—," Percy listened numbly as Michael choked out a sob. "I was wrong! I was so stupid and I-I thought that I wanted you to _die_, but I don't. I don't. I don't. I don't!"

A drop of salty wetness hit Percy in the cheek, and he flinched away.

"You just don't understand, it hurt _so bad_ down there. I was trapped for _days_, and the only thing that kept me alive was the idea of finding you and killing you for what you did. I had to blame someone, I just had to. But I was stupid and wrong and I can't believe that I did."

Michael's words were close to being punctuated by tears. His tongue weighed down, Percy spoke for the first time in what felt like weeks. "What d'you want'?" he asked blankly. He let his eyes drift around the room. It was dirty and musty, little light filtering through the high window. He smelled the distinct stench of copper and sweat. He glanced to his left and stared brokenly at splatters of blood on the floor. His own.

"I'm asking you to forgive me."

Percy's limbs were uncooperative and abused. He weakly lifted his left arm and poised his dirt and blood-smeared fingertips directly in front of Michael's eyes, displaying the grotesque missing nails.

"No."

"Why."

Matt punched Percy in the jaw. It barely even registered, just a prick in his consciousness.

"Won't you."

Fingers shaking in anger found Percy's broken ankle and twisted it.

"Answer me!"

Matt yelled hoarsely in frustration and grabbed Percy's arm in circulation-cutting grip. He laid it out, vulnerable and exposed, and with one gruff scream, Percy knew what was coming, he knew, he knew, he knew. Percy's stomach bottomed out and pain flew up his arm and into his throat as he heard the dreaded snap of the bone in his forearm.

Acid sloshed in his stomach and his esophagus started fill. Barely managing to lurch to his side, hot bile burned his mouth and coughed into the ground, spitting and choking. His eyes burned in time with his throat as he puked up what little they'd gotten him to eat since this all began.

It was never going to be over. He was going to be stuck in here forever, going through the motions of breathing. Matt was laughing, horrible, sustained gasps of absolute hilarity bubbled from his mouth, because he was _fucking insane _and Percy knew it. Matt was completely and utterly fucked up in the head. He obviously missed the class on humanity and morals in kindergarten.

His broken arm was slapped and hypersensitive nerves seized with pain, making Percy squirm as he struggled to find some sort of escape. He was a rat trapped in a maze.

"Aw, did that hurt," Matt asked in mock concern.

"You're going to die pretty soon, Percy, don't worry." Matt leaned closer to his ear, whispering. "It'll all be over soon."

Matt's hands found Percy's throat, poking at his weak pulse, like it was a small animal that he was playing with. Percy was the animal. Now he was. He didn't feel anymore. He reacted to only pain. Percy was biding his time, enduring the never-ending, spirit-breaking, _kill me, please_ pain until he could be done. He was waiting for Matt to snap, for Michael to finally do something merciful to end this, for his weak heart to just _stop_. He was so tired, so immeasurably exhausted and ready to give up. His very soul was dying while his body refused to drop its cards and fold, because in the end he'd just gotten a bad hand.

"Your heart will stop beating and you'll bleed out on this floor soon. You're obviously no use to me anyway, so I have to kill you. I promise."

I promise. I promise. Promise. Promise. Promise. Promise.

* * *

><p>"Percy. Percy, it's me, Michael. I'm going to get you out of here. I have a plan. I'm going to get us out of here. I swear I'll get us out of here. Can you walk? Can you hear me? Percy, you have to open your eyes. Can you open your eyes? Because I'm not sure I can carry you by myself. You have to help me. Percy?"<p>

Percy was so tired, and so incredibly sick of hearing his own name. Michael shook him so hard his teeth rattled. Percy's eyes opened with a muffled groan. Panicked gray eyes hovered over his, almost shivering in their need for escape.

"Oh my god, Percy, your arm. J-jeez, oh fuck, okay. Can you walk? Do you think you could if I helped you?"

Michael's words were stumbling past Percy's ears, in one and out the other. He didn't want to move. But Michael wanted to; apparently he thought he was going to get them out of this. _Them_, as if they were in this together or something. The best of friends.

Michael was trying to pull him from the ground and Percy remained limp, eyes closed again, completely unresponsive. His martyr of a rescuer seemed to notice this and frantically shook him, "Percy! Come on! Wake up! We're gonna get out of here! Get up!"

_Fuck off and leave._

But Michael was relentless and soon Percy's good arm was threaded around his shoulders and Michael was pulling them to their feet. The kid meant business. Michael wrapped his other arm around his waist and was half-carrying half-dragging Percy out of the doorway.

Percy wanted to keep aware of his surroundings, he really wanted to, but Michael had a death grip around his broken ribs, and pain was shooting through his lungs, disabling his ability to breathe. Black spots bloomed in his already fuzzy vision, stealing his consciousness and threatening to send him swirling into nothingness. But he didn't pass out. He wanted to see how far Michael was going to get with this.

When was Matt going to catch them? Soon, he hoped. He wanted to sleep. Percy was tired. He was about to pass out. The pain was everywhere and nowhere. He was held captive by it and divorced of it simultaneously.

"We're close, Percy. Just a few more doors and then the steps and we're home free."

_Steps. See if he remained awake for that one. _

Free sounded nice, though. Where was Matt again?

Percy's head was spinning in lazy circles, empty hallways and blurry light bulbs passing his field of vision.

"We're almost there, Percy. Almost. Just a little bit farther, I promise."

Empty promises and broken bones.

Michael pulled him along, breathing hard and sweating under Percy's arm, the drops sliding onto his skin. There was a buzzing noise in Percy's ears; it rose and fell in volume, sometimes so loud it was all he could think of. He was starting to lose it. His skin itched, spiders crawled down his neck, his head started to become loose and empty. His eyelids fell closed.

"Percy! Percy! Wake up! You can't pass out! Not yet! Percy!"

Percy was floating in water; he missed water, a lot. He missed the soft feeling between his fingertips, cool and relaxing. The distinct scent of the ocean filtered past his nose. A breeze lifted damp strands of his hair. He opened his eyes and saw the beach, the Sound. The waves were slow and methodical, crawling towards his bare feet. Clouds drifted listlessly through the gray sky, covering the sun and freezing the air. Percy didn't mind. He was just glad to be by the ocean again. He missed it. Craved it.

"Percy!"

Mom needed to go away.

His mom. Percy missed his mother; the way she smelled like coffee and caramel when she got home from her part-time job, her smile, how she forgave him for every stupid thing he did to get expelled.

"Percy, please!"

Cruel iron fingers wrapped around his arm and jerked him back and forth. The sea dissolved under the weight of the pain, scattered by reality.

Michael. Pain. Broken. Stabbed. Punched. Hurt. Tears. _I promise I'll kill you_.

"Forget this, I have to carry you."

Percy's center of gravity tilted dangerously as he was tipped over Michael's shoulder, and his chest, broken ribs and bruised muscles, hit Michael's back with knife-stabbing pressure and Percy coughed harshly, each breath scraping past his abused throat.

He couldn't breathe.

"Put me down," he rasped, "please, I don't wanna go, jus' leave me here." He ended his sentence choking on wetness.

Blood. He was coughing up blood. He was coughing up his reason for existence. Coughing up blood was bad. Maybe he'd… maybe it'd finally be… Maybe his lungs would pop a hole and all the air left in him would drain out and he'd fade away. He'd melt through the ground and disappear. The end of the story.

"No, Percy, you don't mean that," Michael huffed. "I'm going to get you out here. I'll bring you right to Camp Half-Blood, I swear. Then you can see Annabeth and Grover and all those people who worship you because you ganked Kronos. And-and I'll leave. I'll leave the country if I have to. I-I'll start over, too. I'll go to Mexico or something. Anything. You'll never ever see my face again."

Percy's head was pounding thunderously. Red and black were bleeding through his sight. The pain, while a powerful motivator, wasn't enough to keep him conscious, and Percy started falling. He was up, up, and away.

Going.

Going.

Gone.

"Percy, Percy! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! We're out! We're in the sun! Percy! We're out!"

Michael lowered Percy to the ground, his ecstatic, but panicked voice rambling in his ears.

Percy coaxed his eyes open, irritated because Michael wanted to wake him up when he was sleeping so soundly. He was so comfortable…

"Percy! It's the sun! C'mon, look!"

Michael wasn't kidding. The sun was out. It was on his cheek, warming pale skin. He lifted his eyelids and saw for the first time in weeks. They were in the forest. It was spring; he'd forgotten, being stuck in the cave for so long, but it was April. Deep green pine needles coated with melting icicles dribbled water onto the wet ground. A squirrel ran from branch to branch. It smelled like cedars and dirt, cold and fresh.

They were going to get out.

Michael was going to get him out. They could survive this. They were going to be free. They w_ere _free. They just had to get out of the forest and find help and he could get rid of all this pain and find Annabeth, and Grover, and his mom and—

The sun was shining. It was warm; _he _was warm.

A giggle bubbled in Percy's throat. He started laughing, actual _laughter_ spilled from his mouth and a smile tugged at his chapped lips. It was hysterical and tinged with grief, but it was real and Percy was alive. He was alive.

Inhaling, exhaling.

Breathing.

Living.

He laughed harder, sunlight on his wounded face, damp leaves under his fingers. Percy Jackson was alive and kicking.

Michael's scarred face hovered above his.

"Percy? Percy, are you all right? Are you—did you…?"

Michael thought he was insane. Maybe he was. Maybe Percy was. Too bad he didn't care. Insanity was a gift at this point.

"You're smiling…"

Percy's lip had split open again. The blood was falling down his chin. Somehow he didn't care. He didn't even feel it. He didn't feel anything. _Hope _was sitting in his heart. He was going to get out of this. Michael. Michael brought him into this, he cursed Percy in the first place, but he was bringing him out. Michael pushed Percy in the pit and then dragged him clear. Percy had no idea what his feelings were on the subject, but he didn't care. Not right now.

Anger fled and Percy lifted and flew like a bird.

"Get me out of here. Let's go. Let's go. The sun, oh gods, the sun. Michael, let's go!" Percy was on the verge of screaming with happiness.

He unleashed his near hysteria and busted out laughing. Michael blinked hesitantly, still near tears, and joined him.

Percy Jackson sat on the muddy ground, broken and scarred, and busted a gut with the boy who nearly killed him.

_Laugh, I nearly died._

Percy's ribs were protesting violently, his broken arm throbbing, and open wound in the back of his matted with blood black hair starting to bleed again. Air was getting harder and harder to come by, wheezing instead of breathing started to come from Percy's mouth.

He coughed loudly and sputtered more blood onto the ground.

Michael was crouched over him.

Percy's red lips spread into smile as he passed out.

* * *

><p>Someone was humming when he woke up again.<p>

"_I've been travelling, but I don't know where."_

He recognized the tune from somewhere. It sounded like something he heard driving Paul. He hadn't thought about Paul in a long time. Paul was a good guy. He was good for his mom. Paul made her happy. He kept her calm; and with Percy dropping off the map every few weeks, that was a good thing for her, and her blood pressure.

"_I've been missing you but you just don't care."_

The car was bouncing a lot, of course, it was a Prius, but the road must've been bad for it to rumble this much. Percy sniffed and was delighted to find that he was near the sea. It smelled like fish and salt. Percy looked to his left and saw Paul sitting in the driver's seat, hand tapping his thigh and singing, his face absolutely at peace.

Paul looked over and smiled knowingly, "Hey, Perce."

"_And I've been wandering; I've seen Greece and Rome."_

What was going on? Percy's eyebrows ducked in confusion and he surveyed his surroundings. They were just driving along the beach. Seagulls squawked above them, a breeze tickled his cheek. It was as normal as normal could get. Except for the fact that the road was empty. They were on a major highway, but not a car was to be seen for miles. They were all alone.

"Hi, Paul."

"_Lost in the wilderness, so far from home."_

"Where we going?" Percy asked.

Paul shrugged and bobbed his head to music that Percy couldn't hear.

"Wherever you want to go, Percy. It's all up to you."

Since when were they this close? Paul was acting awfully funny. And there were still no cars on the road. It was completely deserted. No one for a span of years.

"_I've been to Africa, looking for my soul."_

But it was nice, relaxing. Paul seemed like he didn't have a care in the world, and Percy had too many, so this was just fine for him. He could drive and hum all day and have no objections.

"_And I feel like an actor looking for a role."_

"Paul, am I okay?"

His stepfather played deaf and continued to tap in time to some tune. An eerie peace settled over Percy and he relaxed into the seats. He didn't know why he asked that, but for some reason he wanted to know. He wanted to know Paul's opinion on it.

"_I've been in Arabia; I've seen a million stars."_

Paul looked over and smiled broadly. "Percy," he said. "You're a smart kid, right?"

"I've never really thought so, but I guess," Percy drifted.

"_Been sipping champagne on the boulevards."_

"Then you should know better."

"_I'm so sick and tired, trying to turn the tide."_

"I should know better about what?"

"_I'll say my goodbye."_

"Percy," Paul said, sounding eternally exasperated. "Come on."

"_Laugh."_

It was silent. The seagulls were the gone. There were no other cars. He was alone. "Paul, what're you talking about?

"_Laugh."_

Paul started chuckling, a deep, sinister sound coming from his sneer. Percy's stomach dropped. Paul laughed harder and wiped fake tears from his eyes. He looked over at Percy with a sardonic smile.

"Percy, did you really think this was over?"

"_I nearly died."  
><em>

* * *

><p>Michael was shouting in his ear, and somehow, Percy didn't mind. He wasn't even really shouting, he was talking loudly and with a lot of excitement.<p>

"Percy! You gotta see this, man! You have to wake up and check this out! Percy, come on, wake up!"

Percy swallowed down stale blood, remnants from his lip, and opened his heavy eyelids. Michael had him propped up against his side, sitting on the edge of the forest. They were facing an open field, tall grass swaying lazily in the breeze, blue sky standing boldly, like a flag against the night. And on the other side of the fence, a rickety, broken down fence, stood a barn. It was old and rather rundown, but there was a newer looking tractor sitting outside the door.

"Whoa," he breathed roughly.

Michael met his grin with a rough, crazed laugh, face dirty and red from exertion. "People, right? I mean, that barn looks sort of new, and the tractor is definitely new, and it only really looks like a mile or two, we could make it in a half hour, easy."

Percy smiled breathlessly and lay back on the ground, facing the clouds. They were rolling slowly across the sky, puffy and huge. Michael crawled to his feet and looked towards the sun, shielding his eyes from the glare and surveying the property.

"We're almost there." Michael reassured him.

This was so completely insane. Percy was running away with Michael, the guy who set out to kill him in the first place, and was now saving his life. If his head wasn't pounding, his arm and ankle wasn't broken, and if he wasn't bleeding from various places all over, he would've cared. He would've found a way to be mad, to still be bitter, but the relief of escape was so overwhelming, so completely incapacitating that he couldn't find it in himself to do it.

"I hope they have food," Michael said. "Lots of it. Maybe pancakes, dripping with syrup and butter and chocolate chips over the top. My step-dad used to make those, before he died, he made me pancakes every Friday morning. It was like he was trying to congratulate me because I only had one day left in that crap of a school, and then it was the weekend."

Percy had sometimes dreamed, when he was small, what his dad was like. Occasionally he dreamed that he was an astronaut, or famous actor, and maybe just a working man holding a nine-to five job and who wore plaid shirts, and smelled like wood and coffee. Instead he'd gotten an all-powerful god who ruled over the sea and could destroy thousands of people with a flick of a finger.

Maybe a good trade-off, and maybe not.

"You know what I want when we get there?" Percy asked off-handedly.

Michael turned his back to the sun and looked at Percy, casting a long shadow over him.

"What?"

Percy smiled wryly. "A shower."

Michael's raspy laughed joined his and Percy wondered how he got here. He remembered what it felt like to have hope. He was okay. He could be okay. They'd go to the farmhouse and get help and he'd get out of here.

Percy heard a sound and was stunned to find that it was himself. He was giggling like a little girl. He sounded _happy_.

Michael looked down at him, the sun setting his silhouette on fire, eyebrows crinkled, and said, "Dude, you're going crazy."

That only seemed to set them both off.

It was slightly hysterical, slightly sad, and completely needed.

Michael looked all of five years old when he laughed. He had an arm wrapped around his ribs, like he was trying to keep all the relief inside, and bruises layered his skin. Matt, probably. But he was alive and breathing; they both were. Michael's head was thrown back in laughter, baring his teeth, and Percy sobered quickly, too exhausted to maintain it. The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the peace was widespread.

"_Laugh, laugh, I nearly died." _

Percy froze.

He watched Matt rush from the woods, soundless, motionless.

He watched the knife slide through Michael's chest with barely a pause.

He watched Michael's face drop, from a smile to a look of pained shock. Michael's knees buckled smoothly, Matt feigning care as he caught him on the way down. Michael's blood spilled over his fingers, dripping on the ground. Percy watched.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Matt let Michael fall to the ground on his side, wide open eyes staring at Percy. Michael's face crumpled in pain and Percy watched helplessly as twin tears fell down his nose.

"Help," Michael whimpered, his left arm flailed uncontrollably, fingers grabbing onto Percy's wrist. He took a strangled breath and blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

Percy's stomach sunk into the dirt. His eyes fell half-closed. His soul flickered and died.

Matt's blunt fingers latched onto Percy's bicep and flipped him on his back. Matt leaned in close, breath on Percy's cheek. He whispered soft and slow, "Hey, Percy. Long time no see. I see Mikey isn't doing so well. Did you _really _think this was over? That you could just walk away? I'm sorry, Percy, but no. Definitely not."

Then Matt stood up and started laughing.

"Priceless, Percy! Priceless!" he shouted, screaming in joy.

Matt's hands wrapped around Percy's throat and he passed out watching Michael's eyes roll into his head. The world went dark around Michael's blood.

* * *

><p>"<em>Percy? Sweetheart, I know that you're in pain right now. But I love you, dear. We all love you. We just want you to be okay, that's all we want. Now I know you'll wake up soon. I believe in you. Besides, you've got so much waiting here. Annabeth, me, your father. Grover's here, too, you know. He says your empathy link is… Well, never mind that, you just try and wake up. I didn't raise a lazy boy. You're my fighter. Always have been. Always will be."<em>

_His mom brushed his hair from his forehead. _

"_Percy? Are you awake? Percy?" _

Percy blinked. His muscles were incredibly tense, curled on his side. A deep throbbing pain radiated from the middle of his chest.

"Percy! Oh, Percy, you don't how worried we've been. How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Percy—."

"Stop," Percy interrupted. "Just stop." He rolled away from her. "Please," he begged. His voice broke.

"_I nearly died."_

* * *

><p><strong>Blah blah blah. Been awhile. It's just so hard writing such a dark subject matter. I wish they could come faster. I'm trying, kiddos! <strong>

**Onto the chapter. Big credit to The Rolling Stones. This would've remained locked in my subconscious without them. And if you seriously, completely, really really really like my writing, and want the entire effect of the scene, you'll listen to "Laugh, I Nearly Died," while you read it. It's the inspiration.**

**I know, I know, I'm a sadistic, violent, horribly cruel author. I even felt bad when I twisted the Paul scene. I was almost in heartbroken, anguished tears at the end when I killed Michael. How do you all feel about Michael now? Honestly.**

**WE PASSED 200! I love you all. Seriously, way more than I ever expected. Thanks. Cheers to another 200 more!**

**Thanks for waiting. I'm probably going to squeeze a one-shot about Percy and Thalia pretty soon. Obviously not them in a relationship. That's just weird.**


	9. Science of Things

_Title is taken from Bush's album. Why? I don't know. I like it._

* * *

><p><strong>Hey, boys and girls! The unlovable, incompetent, wannabe writer is BACKKKKKK! Mahah, that review put the biggest smile on my face. It was absolutely hysterical. Because, whether this schmoozer wants to admit it or not, they're coming back.<strong>

**Petty laughter aside, read. This one's rather short. But, ya know, it is what it is. **

* * *

><p><em>Help me sometimes, I need that much <em>  
><em>Don't you think it's strange <em>  
><em>How we can turn to dust <em>

_Think it's strange, like really strained _  
><em>We'll never run when we've got all these broken bones<em>

_"Mindchanger" - Bush _

* * *

><p>Percy gingerly pulled his sweatshirt over his shoulders, muscles still sore and overused from hours in action. There was a knock on the door and a swift dropkick to Percy's stomach as he pulled too hard on the fabric and jerked his arm down.<p>

"Percy, you ready to go?"

Annabeth quietly entered the room and leaned against the wall behind her, watching him. A cold wash trickled down Percy's spine and he turned away.

"Yeah," he whispered. His voice was still raw, vocal chords strained from screaming. Apparently he'd yelled at first, wailed beyond belief. He'd been under for over three hours, completely trapped by the disturbing tidal wave of memories. It was kind of strange, because to Percy, it felt like months. He had felt everything, down to the raindrops of blood falling like rubies, falling down his cheek in a warm path. He could still feel his skin burn.

"How are you feeling?" Annabeth's hand lightly landed on his shoulder. Her fingers grazed a bruise.

Ants crawled up Percy's neck and he sprung to his feet. "I'm fine," he started. He didn't sound fine. He could do better than that, especially for her. She deserved much better than his paranoia. Annabeth deserved much better period. He felt her touch slip from his contact, fingertips leaving a trail of tight muscles as they fled.

His ears were buzzing, flies zipping in and out of range. They were loud. They were persistent. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.

_I lost everyone because of you._

Percy quirked his head to the side and gave her a quick smile, an _everything's gonna fine, Wise Girl, quit freakin' out_ signal. It was his trademark. He always did that. Convince people that you _knew _everything was all right, and they'd go with it. No one wanted to be depended on in war. It made you responsible. Percy had been thrust into a position of leadership and he'd had no choice but to carry it.

"Okay," she whispered. "You're fine."

Percy started towards the door and hesitantly looked behind him, reaching back his hand. Annabeth's eyes were a wide open gray. She stepped forward, and he silently wrapped his fingers around her wrist, leading her into the hallway and out of Olympus.

Away from his dad, away from Apollo, and away from twittering birds and silver knives slicing through his skin.

Annabeth's pulse was throbbing beneath his fingers and reverberating up his arm and across his shoulders. It provided some sort of anchor, his center of gravity. He needed it.

* * *

><p>"Annabeth, you know you're welcome to stay with us while you're in Manhattan."<p>

Sally carefully measured another four cups of flour and poured them into a large mixer, bringing down top and locking it into place. The triangle-shaped attachment slowly started to spin while butter and sugar combined.

Annabeth, perched on a stool next to Percy, smiled with her lips closed and ducked her head. "I appreciate the offer, really Ms. Jackson, but my mom has decided that I'd be better off staying in Olympus for the time being. As goes the power ranking, I won't argue." Percy thought it was a little weird; Annabeth had never seriously listened to Athena's _suggestions_ before.

Blue food dye was pulled out of the cupboard and dropped into the now rapidly turning mixing bowl. Once she seemed to be satisfied with the consistency of the dough, Sally shut the machine off and dumped the unbaked cookies on the freshly washed counter.

"Well, I wouldn't want to get you into trouble, but I'm going to expect you to drop by every now and then, you know. It gets old being surrounded by men all the time."

Sally turned and started searching through a drawer filled to the brim with cooking utensils.

Two hands scrambled towards the dough, tore a chunk of innocent cookie, and brought it to its demise.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll stop by sooner or later. I've gotta keep an eye on Percy, he tends to get into trouble when I'm not around."

The sweet taste in Percy's mouth disappeared, and he swallowed dust. His grimace went unnoticed and the potential frozen silence in the room was broken by the sound of keys getting pushed into the apartment door.

"Call me weak, but sixty in the first week of July is ridiculous."

Paul draped his coat over the small coffee table, jangling his car keys, and stopped short when he saw Percy staring at him from the kitchen island.

"Percy…You're—," he swallowed anxiously and stepped forward. Paul's eyes were so gray that they almost seemed to float away. His shoulders dropped. "Hey," he drifted. He gave Percy one of those sad, lopsided smiles. He'd been getting those a lot lately. Pity. So easy to locate. So easy to see. So laughable to think people thought it _helped_. Pity didn't solve anything.

"Ow!" Sally squeaked, jerking her finger from the steaming faucet, "I guess I forgot how unpredictable city water can be. How was work?"

Paul was clumsy as he distractedly dropped his schoolbag near the door and shook his head. "All right, I suppose. The joys of teaching inner-city summer school are endless. So when'd you guys get here?"

The delectable smell of baking cookies permeated the kitchen and tried to ease Percy's nerves.

Paul's palm hesitantly rested on Percy's hair for a single second.

"A few hours ago. I was thinking pasta for dinner, does that sound good? I could change it, too. I have some leftover shrimp in the freezer, maybe we could have stir-fry. Or what about pancakes? We haven't had breakfast for dinner in a while. I'm sure there's some syrup hiding in the back of the fridge somewhere—."

"Mom," Percy interrupted softly. "Pasta's fine."

Her hands were shaking as she wiped them on the dishtowel. The fragile, busy peace of driving back to Manhattan and making food was crumbling like sand in the wind. He was losing, losing, losing it.

Percy just wanted to forget about it. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to think about what he was going to do tonight, or tomorrow, or the next week. He didn't want to think about camp, friends, or Annabeth. He'd spent so long thinking that he just had to get through the next minute that the idea of a _future _was foreign.

"I think I should go home. It's getting kind of late." Annabeth stood, gathering her jacket and keys, and for a moment she loomed hesitantly over Percy. Her hand came up, fingers reaching towards him. Percy stared.

Annabeth's hand dropped, and she coughed roughly. "I guess I'll go."

Sally and Paul seemed to have missed the painful interaction, but tuned into Annabeth's statement.

"Take a cookie, sweetheart. I'm sure Percy will walk you out. We'll see you soon?"

Annabeth smiled thinly as she took the bag from Sally. "Thanks, I'm sure we'll sort something out."

Percy gingerly climbed to his feet, opening the door for Annabeth. He wondered when he'd be able to look her in the eye again. He watched her figure disappear around the corner, stomach stirring with longing he hadn't felt in centuries. Percy's feet felt stuck in concrete.

"Go, Percy."

His mom sounded so c_aring_.

Percy pulled back the collar of his sweatshirt, suffocating under the weight of recognition.

Procrastinating around the entrance of the apartment building, Annabeth looked strange and sad. Her blonde hair stood out starkly against the dreary dying day. She looked like any other college student. She looked like any other guy's girlfriend.

Black fabric bunched into Percy's shaking hands, and he pulled Annabeth backwards. She let out a startled gasp but settled when she turned and found him.

"Hey," she whispered.

Percy wrapped one arm around her waist, sensitive bandages pressing against her skin. He buried his face into her shoulder, generic soap, and the slightest hint of sandalwood calming his senses.

At least she still smelled the same.

"So what're you going to do?" she asked, hand coming to rest on Percy's, her hair brushing against his cheek.

Percy exhaled roughly, not wanting think about it. He just wanted to stop.

"I don't know. It's-…what are you going to do?"

Her finger's plucked at Percy's like bowstrings, pausing before she answered. "Do you want to go back to camp?" she mumbled, turning away, sounding completely discouraged. Annabeth sounded timid.

Percy inhaled loudly and tightened his grip. "I don't. I don't know. Yeah, probably." He pulled away, spinning her by her sweatshirt to face him. "Don't get murdered on your way, okay?" he said.

It was a joke. It was supposed to be a joke. Sardonic humor.

Annabeth nodded solemnly and stepped closer. In a position he'd been in a hundred times before, Percy watched her lips approach his. Except this position was different, and he was different, and he was _wrong_, and Percy deviated; he kissed the corner of her mouth, one that knew so well. So well.

"All right," she exhaled against his skin, "I'll Iris-message you sometime tomorrow, okay? I'm sure we'll figure something out," she said.

Percy nodded quietly and dropped his hands from her clothing.

"Bye," he whispered, voice low and scratchy from overuse.

Annabeth's eyes were wide and strange, foreign. The distance between them grew as she disappeared into the busy streets of lower Manhattan. Percy watched her retreating figure and his heart trembled and dropped.

He didn't even want her to come back.

* * *

><p>Percy lay back on his bed, staring at his ceiling, and listened to the hushed noises of the city through his window. He had Riptide in his hand and he was repetitively clicking it on and off. The sword emanated a muted blue that lit up the dust particles in the air.<p>

It was closer to morning than night, and he still hadn't slept. The slight fog of exhaustion burned at the back of his mind, but all he'd done for the past six hours was lay there.

Every time he closed his lids he watched Michael die again. Blood splattered onto his face. He watched Michael's eyes go dim, and people weren't lying when they said the light left. Michael's gaze went glassy and he looked at Percy. All he _saw _was that accusing gray sheen that seemed to scream _you're going to die just like me_.

Ants crawled up his spine, itching and scratching and this was why he couldn't sleep.

Percy stirred restlessly and turned to his side.

He tiredly watched the shadows flicker across his floor.

Go back to camp or not.

Sleep or not.

Dream or not.

Face the world or run and hide.

Annabeth.

He didn't know what was going on. He was tired and confused. His eyelids drooped low. Sleep, that's all he wanted right now. His thoughts faded into background noise and suddenly it didn't matter that Michael was dead and Percy was damaged, unconsciousness was just a few blissful seconds away.

"Percy!"

Michael was screaming his name.

"Percy, help! Help me!"

There was the smooth sound of steel sliding through flesh and a horrifying hell of pain.

Michael fell slowly, defying gravity.

His blood burned Percy's skin, landed on his lips. Those gray eyes stared into his, no longer existing. They weren't guilty; they weren't pained; they weren't terrified; they were dead.

Percy jackknifed awake, heart racing against his chest. He struggled to calm his wildly out-of-control breathing.

Percy slowly tilted back to the mattress.

His stomach was twisted in nausea, or maybe it was guilt. If he had to guess he'd go with the latter.

Head aching and heart emptying, Percy pushed the twisted sheets off his bed with his feet and lay on the bare mattress. The cool air bit at his skin, but he didn't feel it. A harsh wave of desolation washed over Percy as he realized that no came for him the first time, so why would they come now?

Percy waited for sleep, but all he got was the sterile rays of the rising sun.

* * *

><p>Annabeth sat next to Percy on the park bench, as silent as he was. She had come over in the afternoon, and after a few minutes of painful small talk, Percy's mom had suggested that they go for a walk. Percy easily agreed, because it couldn't get worse than, "So, uh, how'd your day go?"<p>

They ended up somewhere in Central Park, watching the ducks roam and squawk around a pond.

"Percy, I think we should go back to camp."

Her voice broke Percy's reverie and he looked up and glanced around her eyes. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yes," she stated. No dancing around the topic with Annabeth. Gods, he'd missed that. "I think we should. You're… all right now. You should get back into routine, back to normal. I think your mom thinks the same thing. I mean, monsters are still around, and I'm sure plenty of them would love to get another shot at you. So let's not let that happen and go back."

Percy relaxed against the backrest, twisting his fingers together. "I guess you're right."

Annabeth narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "You know, you don't have to agree with everything I say, right? You never used t—." Her voice died off with almost a whimper. Regret lined her features.

Percy blew out a heavy breath and listlessly watched two ducks dive under the water searching for food. He tiredly rubbed the side of his face.

Annabeth tried again. "Do you want to go to camp?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah," Percy said. "I do, you're right. I mean, what else am I going to do? Sit at home and do nothing?"

Annabeth gave him a sympathy smile. "Pretty much. But Percy, seriously, do you want to go back?"

Percy was clenching his teeth so hard his jaw was aching.

"Yeah, I think I do," he smiled.

It felt forced and foreign, contracting rarely-used muscles.

Annabeth grinned with blatant relief and said, "Great. When do you want to leave? I mean, we don't have to go right away. You should say good bye and stuff. I have to settle a few things in Olympus with my mom and all the work we're starting, but whenever you're ready, we'll go."

Percy nodded. "Yeah, I'll figure it out."

She really wanted to go. It was obvious how much she had missed camp over the past month. He didn't blame her, it was her home.

It was his home, too. Except he wasn't even sure he wanted to be there. Friends were there, people he _knew _were there. The same people he'd went through a war with. The same people who looked up to him for some insane reason. They _relied _on him.

Annabeth's hand was reaching towards him, and every single hand that had reached for him before caused pain, so Percy stood up. Away from her, and her hand, and her warm smile, and her_ I understand that you're hurting_ smiles.

He watched her falter, but not showing it outwardly, because she was Annabeth. She didn't tell Percy things like that.

Percy had hurt Annabeth, and he turned away with the slightest glean of regret running through his system; not for hurting her, but for the fact that a small part of him had enjoyed it.

* * *

><p><strong>Dark? Yes, it was. But what else would you expect from this story? Once again, sorry about the wait. I realllyyyyyy don't mean to. Alas, I'll try to make the next chapter longer. <strong>

**(If any of you are interested in sending me scathing reviews about how I'm lazy and you hate me and I cover it up withe excuses and one-shots, GO FOR IT)**

**Ahhh, no hard feelings, young reviewer. You got what you wanted! **

**But I don't get the one-shot thing. I like my one-shots. :( And I'm probably going to write another one within the next month. *Sigh* **


	10. Points of View

"_The future was a dark corridor, and at the far end the door was bolted."_

_- Gustave Flaubert_

* * *

><p>Percy couldn't elaborate how grateful he was that Annabeth had decided to get a regular, smelly New York taxi. Before getting in, he'd had a vivid flashback of the Gray Sisters and their Chariot of Damnation. Really, with a name like that, what could go wrong?<p>

They were now flying down an interstate, the driver engaged in a riveting discussion with Annabeth about America's crumbling infrastructure and the History channel. Percy was blankly watching the green scenery blur past him, and thinking about nothing in particular. For once, his mind wasn't racing like a freight train, or maybe it was because he was half-asleep and exhausted.

Explaining to his mom that he wanted to go back to camp had gone surprisingly smooth. She'd cringed and protested in the slightest, before Paul gave her this look and she relented. Part of him wondered how selfish he was, leaving her when he'd only been back for a little under a week. She was only just beginning to stop asking him to leave his bedroom door open at night. There had been more than one occasion that he'd rolled over to find her perched against the wall, face equally distraught and lost. There was being in pain and seeing your mother in pain, and the latter was definitely the worst.

Annabeth was particularly lively, smiling and laughing like it had rained sunshine. Percy wasn't really accustomed to it, and had spoken to her in awkward reluctance, to which she didn't respond to, just kept on beaming.

She had never been an excited person. She was intense, fiery, and hopeful, but not giddy. Annabeth seemed to have kicked into happy-overdrive and Percy didn't know how to handle it. It was strange. She was strange. Strange to him.

That thought train just made his head hurt more, so he flipped directions.

They were going back to camp. He was going back to camp. He left a hero and was returning as…

The cab driver had the air on full blast, as New York was in a moody fit of sailing between the lower sixties and upper eighties. Percy tugged at the sleeves of the sweatshirt he'd put on that morning, shivers trailing down his spine. His mom had been forced to buy him emergency clothing, since his drawers were pretty much emptied because he'd been staying at camp during the time of his disappearance. She'd gone a little overboard with the Nike stuff and the official NBA basketball shorts.

"Hey, Annabeth?" he asked.

She turned from where she was perched towards the front seats and looked at him expectantly. "Yeah?"

"Who won the playoffs?"

Annabeth gave him a funny look. "What playoffs?"

"You know, basketball, the NBA. Who won it?"

She shrugged her shoulders and replied, "I'm sorry, I don't really follow that kind of stuff. Why?"

_Because I'm pretty sure I was unconscious during the majority of it?_

The taxi driver jumped in to save the day, with a decidedly Southern accent. "The Lakers, boy, ain't you watched anything lately? That Derek Fisher guy sure can turn on the heat when he needs to. That guy was _clee-utch_. Man, he probably matched Kobe that series."

Percy leaned back against the headrest. "Oh."

The guy gave him a funny look through the rearview mirror and continued talking to Annabeth about structural integrity and whatnot. Crowded suburbs were turning to rolling green hills; they were getting close.

Percy blew out a heavy breath and wearily wondered why he felt like he was beginning a long prison sentence. Camp was his home. It was a safe haven that he'd almost sacrificed his life for just a year ago. He'd really only been gone for a month, which was not that long. Not long at all. Everything could turn out all right.

The cab came to an abrupt stop at the top of a hill that housed a pine tree Percy was particularly familiar with.

"You kids sure this is where you planned on gettin' off?" the cab driver asked, craning his head to look back at them.

Annabeth smiled politely, clambered over Percy, and pushed open the door. "Oh, yes, we just love strawberries and my grandparents should be around here somewhere. How much do I owe you?"

While Annabeth sorted through her wallet, Percy retrieved their stuff from the trunk and tossed his backpack over his shoulder. He turned his back to the afternoon sun and let his eyes drift up a very familiar pine tree. Countless trips up the very same path he was starting rolled around his mind. He reached the top and silently looked down. Kids were rambling everywhere, orange shirts and blue jeans streaking across the vibrant green grass. It was busy and hectic and everything Percy wasn't used to anymore.

As he started down the hill, Annabeth rushing to catch up with him, Percy hitched his backpack higher and took a deep breath, bracing himself.

"Percy, we should probably find Chiron first. I messaged him when you came back, but I'm sure he wants to see you in person."

Nodding tightly, Percy watched the heads start to turn.

Subtle glances from campers he'd known, but not talked to, wide-eyed looks from the younger ones who were still fascinated with him after all this time, and the breaking sunshine smiles from people he knew.

A familiar bleat followed, "Percy!"

Gods, he hadn't heard that sound in a while.

"Percy, Percy, Percy!" Grover practically tackled Percy with his hug, sending him skidding forward a few feet.

With tense shoulders, Percy carefully extracted himself from the satyr, nerves on fire and shoulders locked in defense. Grover hopped around to his front and grasped Percy's arms. Adrenaline rushed up and down Percy's body; he wanted Grover to _let go_. He wanted out. It was too long. Too hard. Too much. He wanted to be done. Why couldn't they leave him alone? It wasn't his fault? He hadn't _tried _to kill anyone.

Percy felt his heartbeat thunder in his neck, pulse aching in his head.

"Percy, oh man, you have no idea how much I've missed you." Grover repeated, looking at him like he'd saved the world.

Teeth clenched, Percy swallowed roughly and reminded himself that this was Grover. This was his best friend. They were best friends. They shared an empathy link. Hell, they practically had to share everything with something like that.

His shoulders dropped and his muscles went lax.

"Hey, Grover," he smiled crookedly, cuffing his friend's curly head of hair.

Grover finally released his grip.

Grover's eyes went serious, and he asked, "How're you doing? I heard…"

"I'm all right," Percy cut him off. "It's good to be back."

Annabeth intercepted and told them that Chiron probably wanted to see Percy as soon as possible, and started steering both boys towards the Big House.

Percy's gaze ambled over the place he'd been missing from for a month now. It was still the same. The cabins were in order, the fields straight, and the trees green.

But it felt different.

Percy absently went up to scratch behind his ear and got caught on the thin jagged scar that crossed his wrist. He remembered feeling the bones shift when he moved, horrible, agonizing pain as Matt had stepped on it after he'd committed the crime. Percy remembered the shoe print over his bruised skin, displaced limb digging into the cement. Matt's laughter as he started to scream.

Nausea rolled in his stomach and Annabeth's sharp voice brought him back.

"Percy! Hey, you in there?"

Only her eyebrows were scrunched in worry and not accusation.

"What?"

She shrugged tensely and walked up the stairs to the house, Percy and Grover following.

"You didn't answer for a while. Are you feeling okay? I mean, it was a long ride. If you're tired I'm sure you can—."

Percy stopped the on the second step. "I'm fine," he stated. He sounded angry. He wasn't angry. He was just. He was fine. If they would just stop worrying and _let it go_ than there wouldn't be a problem.

He watched Annabeth stiffen and turn, opening the door as she relented. "Okay, you're fine."

Grover was giving him a look and Percy pushed past him and entered the front room of the house. Chiron was where he'd always been, seated in his wheelchair, blanket over fake legs, and experienced hands flipping through a deck of cards. He looked up when they walked in, eyes going directly to Percy, and he felt something in his heart drop.

Chiron could see it.

"Percy. Dear boy, welcome home."

The words were said with such utter sincerity that they had Annabeth turning and swiftly wiping her eyes, struggling for composure.

"Yeah," Percy agreed quietly. "Home."

His gaze skirted around Chiron's searching one, not wanting to see what kind of comprehension was there. "So," he started offhandedly. "What have I missed?"

Chiron huffed and threw his cards on the table. "More of the same."

"So, explosions, fights, pranks, and near chaos?"

Chiron smiled, idly playing with an ace of spades. "Exactly."

"Don't forget the runaway turtle. There was a runaway turtle."

Percy gave Grover a quizzical look and the satyr shrugged.

"One devious turtle, all I'm saying." He patted Percy's shoulder. "I've gotta go get Juniper. She wanted to see you. I'll be back, all right?"

Percy nodded slowly and watched him gallop away.

"So, dinner's at seven. I'm sure someone will want to make a valiant speech about your return. Please, don't feel the need to spend your first day back at camp with a grumpy, retired centaur. Go, relax."

He had that calm smile on his face, like he knew something no one else did. Percy hated that look, on anyone. Annabeth said something cheerful, tugging his elbow and pulling him out of the house. Percy's ears were ringing, anger flooding his veins. _Condescending, laughing, smiling, while he was in pain_. Annabeth's hand had slid down to his wrist, and he wrenched it away from her.

Her carefree grin faltered, and she protectively pulled away from him, her cheeks flushing red.

"I…sorry."

Percy cleared his throat, hiking his bag higher on his shoulder. "I need to go to my cabin. I'll find you later."

Annabeth nodded shortly, turning on her heels and heading back towards the Big House. Percy didn't know what she was going to do. She was probably going to talk to Chiron about him. That made his fingers clench, so he shook himself wearily and started walking.

Everyone stared at him as he passed. A few people he knew, pretty well, most of the older campers, drilled holes in his back but still didn't say a word. He ducked his head, their gazes tensing his shoulders. It was like they were trying to see what had happened to him.

He saw the familiar white-wash walls of Cabin Three and was slightly comforted. It looked empty, dark. Percy released a heavy breath and pushed through the door. His bed was undone, sheets tangled on the floor, pillow thrown a few feet away.

_He was dreaming about going to college when the noise woke him up. Maybe it was the fact that, really, college? Percy sat up in his bed, shaking his hair, and looked around. He thought he'd heard something. There was something off about the room. Call it demigod instinct, but goose bumps prickled his arms. The night sounds of the camp were silenced. Normally there were bugs, cicadas, and people whispering. _

_Fingers walking to his nightstand, Percy remained ramrod straight and grabbed Riptide. Quietly twisting, he slid off his bunk, bare feet hitting the cold floor. _

_The war was over. There shouldn't be any more invasions. They should be allowed to chill out for at least a couple months. _

_Percy stood, surveying his cabin, eyes passing over empty beds and the glowing fountain. There really wasn't any place to hide in here, not with the close quarters and open floor plan. Maybe his opponent was outside. Percy turned and carefully opened his door. _

_All the other cabins were dim, maybe a book light here or there. It was late, though. No one was usually up at this time. He stepped outside, scanning for potential threats. He still didn't see anything. _

_Hopefully this was just a case of late night paranoia. He got that sometimes, waking up from especially vivid nightmares, heart beating out of his chest because he witnessed another one of his friends die. But that was normal. Hell, he went through a war. Dreams were expected; it was called coping. _

_Percy gathered his emotions, stepping back into his cabin. It was nothing._

_He slid through his half-open door, closing it with one hand, and looked up._

_There was a man. _

_Percy let out a strangled yell, jerking the hand with Riptide up to defend himself, but the man caught his wrist, and came around with a vicious right hook. Percy ducked, his attacker's fist crunching against the wooden door, and sidestepped away him. There was a hard tug on his hand, and he glanced down in confusion. He was trying to pull Riptide away from him. _

_Percy jerked back, struggling to find the cap without losing the pen, so he could extend it to a sword. _

_He wasn't good at hand to hand combat. He was a five feet extended kind of fighter. _

_It slipped. Riptide fell through his fingers._

_Percy lunged for it with a yell. It went fast, but he saw the cap fall off the sword, silver sword streaming out, and the hilt collided with his temple. Pain blossomed through his head and he went to his knees. _

_Brought down with his own weapon. There was a certain karma in that. _

_The butt of Riptide came down on his skull again._

_Everything tumbled to black around the pinprick in his upper arm._

A cold sweat dotting his forehead, Percy shivered hard and sailed back to reality. It was over. He had to remember that. It was over. Both Michael and Matt were dead. Michael died looking at him. Matt was killed by Hermes. The god had said he'd killed _everyone_.

He was fine.

Gritting his teeth, Percy dropped his backpack on his bed and did a 360.

Home.

Percy felt the familiar weight against his thigh, and dug his hand in his pocket. He bounced Riptide in his palm, thumb sliding over its smooth surface. His heart was still racing. "Don't fail again," he asked it.

There was a rapping noise, and he jumped to face it.

Grover was leaning against the door jam, features unusually blank. He walked in without an invitation, sitting on an empty bunk.

"You know, I saw…some stuff," he started roughly. His voice was dead. "The empathy link, it still worked. I mean, half the time what I was seeing was nightmares. Or maybe it was a mix of reality, I don't know. I don't think you were…_conscious _a lot though. I mean, I think. I'm not sure."

He was biting on his nails, staring at nothing in particular, probably searching for something that wasn't Percy.

Percy edged closer, maintaining a safe distance. "Go on," he said.

His best friend sucked in a hesitant breath. Grover had never been adept at emotional conversations. They were never emotional. They never needed to talk about shit like this. It was _never_ needed before this.

"Well, the empathy link shows images. It also—. I felt what you felt, sometimes. Not often, or every minute. But, when I'd wake up after seeing you in my dreams, I'd—. Gods, Percy, you were in so much _agony_. I can't even begin to—. It was…I _know _about some of the stuff they did to you."

Grover's voice fell off towards the end.

Percy's stomach dropped to his knees and he turned, cutting off Grover's loaded gaze. He didn't want to talk about this. No one should know about what happened to him.

"What did you see?" he asked.

He couldn't see Grover, didn't want to, but Percy could practically hear the anxiety in his voice.

"I saw Michael. I saw the other guy. Matt, I think. I remember seeing the cattle prod. The—, _your arm_." Grover cleared his throat loudly. He sounded like he was choking on his words. "You-you _screamed_. And it followed me. Gods, everywhere. I couldn't get it _out of my head_." Percy could hear his breath start rasping. "I saw part of your escape, too. I mean, with Michael. It cut in and out, but you were _so close _and Matt came and—."

"It wasn't your fault," he ended.

Percy inhaled sharply, struggling for control. "Don't." He faced Grover again. "Just stop talking about it. I don't care. Just stop."

Grover's eyes went wide at Percy's acidic tone. "I'm just saying. If you need to talk about it. I mean, you _should_. I'm right behind you, that's all I'm saying."

Percy laughed harshly and started pulling his clothes out of his bag. "Yeah, sure. I'm fine, Grover. Just go…do something. I need to unpack."

Grover stood, slowly making his way to the door. "All right, then. I'll see you at dinner, I guess."

"Yeah, sure."

Grover closed the door behind him, and Percy carefully waited until he was a safe distance away. He couldn't hear the satyr's footsteps anymore. He picked up his backpack and hurled it towards the far wall with a strangled yell.

"Damnit!" He fumbled with Riptide, chucking it with the rest of his stuff.

His weapon, that had brought him throw battle after battle, slid to the ground.

Percy started shoving stuff back into his drawers.

Riptide materialized in his pocket five seconds later. The damn thing wasn't one of the greatest weapons of all time. It had failed in the battle he needed to win most.

Percy was fine.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry... I'm...a few months behind... I'm really struggling with this story, but it's coming. *Sigh* Sorry. Crazy how my most successful story is the absolute hardest thing for me to write. It's like pulling teeth. <strong>

**Enough complaining, this is the chapter. :) **

**I really think Riordan had a giant plot hole with the empathy link. I never completely understood it, but I slid it in here anyway. I've also been on an Avengers kick lately. **

**Chris Evans... damn. **

**Hot men aside, thanks for reading!**


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